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12/01 Direct Link
When I marry (because the possibility is back on the table, with a wobbly leg, but it stands), I will shoot myself before ever calling my husband, "hubby". I will probably limit association with housewives who use this term of endearment and throw jewelry and Tupperware parties just so they can reap the free gifts from high sales. And my name in bed is Bitch. I won't respond to anything else. Maybe Wench. I'll have designated friends to slap me stupid if a marriage rut leads me to the desperation of making ambrosia salads and wearing pearls to dinner parties.
12/02 Direct Link
This month I'm resigning into a state of silence. Unlike other people who suffer obligatory obsessing, mine has no focal point. It's too much and not enough to articulate. I'm quietly listening where my busy mind will take me, even if it's nowhere. However, it's becoming frustrating that no one else asks questions. Is it only I that remains curious? And I don't think I should be positing answers to my infinite inquiries. My scope is either limited or far too wide to be satisfactory. I want to know what goes through other people's head, if they spin like mine.
12/03 Direct Link
The young, dumb and full of cum, aren't dimwits after all. They go for the older, more mature women, because 1) They know what they're doing, 2) Women generally outlive their husbands so they don't have to die alone. Widows therefore get to remarry, considering they've lived a one-per-lifetime traditional marriage. It's win-win.

As for a barely experience lass, should she choose an older man, she will die alone because he'll croak first. She'll be too saggy to score another vigorous husband. He'll likely stop performing when she's peaking.

I'm not seeing the benefits.

The pro and con list grows strong.
12/04 Direct Link
Florence shows up to parties in a full-blown alter ego: Lars. Wig and detachable mustache. He will not, cannot, break character. It's odd, but curiously entertaining. His loft walls are decorated with dry-erase boards he never bothered to hang. White surfaces hardly poke through the scribbles of indecipherable equations and illegible theories. His book collection is exquisite; classics and number psychology. The music collection: independent labels, acid jazz and trippy folk. Most call him eccentric. I wish he wasn't only good at chemistry, but that we shared it. Did I mention his countertops are littered with fat rolls of twenties?
12/05 Direct Link
If beauty lies within, then I'm having an ugly day. Instead of paper bagging my face, which I'm ironically fond of today, I would like to bag my rotten innards and put them at arms length, at stench's length. There is no glow, nor attractive qualities despite primping and repositioning. No amount of rest and nutrition can lift the tired and malfunction in me. My only option is to wait it out, until enough time has passed, and my interior contents and exterior walls find common ground, and I feel good about myself again. I know I'm in there somewhere.
12/06 Direct Link
The more daily encounters we have as I walk in and right past him, catching him trying avoiding eye contact with me, the less beauty I find in him. His average demeanor is more evident with time. His attraction factor would've moderately increased with each flirty little taunt until my desire for him was overwhelming, but now that we've been had… weeks too late, he looks like any other meat seller that butchers with a blood lust grin. I should have waited until the newness of his deceiving charm expired before giving him credit for the now obviously defective allure.
12/07 Direct Link
Working with insured cargo puts me in headshot of my biggest mind job. Loss. I don't mourn n a stolen semi full of Playstations or thawed cases of frozen bull semen. The claims that claim my heart are the common instances of lightly bruised bananas discarded by container loads, pallets of shrimp rot and tanks of orange juice infected with maggots. Damaged goods in mass quantities that should've been prevented. Even though most people wouldn't think to take a fork to a flatbed of squashed broccoli stems, I'm sure there's a bony kid somewhere who would dig in with gusto.
12/08 Direct Link
To believe anything is possible can free minds that are closed, inhibitions that have tightened, dreams that are trapped. Denying the unlikely will latch the locks and swallow the key that can indiscriminately open doors and take you places. It's true, some fear the Otherside of the doors. Some are afraid they'll plummet at the threshold. But isn't it better to know what lies or stands behind every possibility? Door Number 2 and so on should be explored and I'm sure you'll find chance is more generous than not, if given varied options. Never be too quick to say no.
12/09 Direct Link
Cocoa and Guarana are gifts of flora. Nothing wrong with aiding human imperfection with herbs, adjusting the balance what was falling behind. My high maintenance mind requires meticulous upkeep. I alone can't keep up. So popping a pill, manipulated by the magic of biological nature, helps me glide right alongside the speed of universal time. I'm finally paced the same as most functional, sensible, average creatures. But once the capsules are metabolized, I immediately crash down to a useless blob staring into space, daydreaming for energy to posses me to jump up and skydive, mount rollercoasters and go extreme running.
12/10 Direct Link
Ninth grade Lit. Peculiar teacher. She presented daily topics for our composition notebooks. Everyone wrote. Oddball me loved it. It became apparent she was schooled in Theology. She would leave comments of praise on my entries since I brought up God often. It wasn’t an invitation for her to cite texts, but she added her two cents. However, her secular comments encouraged my writing until today. One time she volunteered I read a page aloud in class. I despised her for holding the class until I finished. Once the bell rings, nobody’s interested in personal stories, if they ever were.
12/11 Direct Link
Never

… had my face painted.

… done managed back flip.

... dine and dashed.

… flashed a stranger.

… skinny dipped.

… toilet papered a house.

… completed a crossword puzzle.

… slid down a banister.

… snuck into a free movie show.

… kissed a man over 30.

… pressed charges or vice versa.

… tried X.

… got my Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper that mom promised.

… had a brazilian wax, and never will.

… crossed any ocean.

… played a slot machine.

… danced on a table. Or remember doing it.

… Danced with the devil.
12/12 Direct Link
I'm going to love it when you tell me that nobody has ever told you that before, that no woman has touched you like I do, that you've never tried that position, that you've never made a girl scream like that.

But that probably won't happen until you've figured out that you don't know anyone who can squirm in a seat so much, that you've never seen anyone who throws household items with precise aim, that cries so much, that's so socially inappropriate, or wears such little jewelry, that randomly bursts into song and bumps into walls all the time.
12/13 Direct Link
Thee best exercise shorts in the world are of the crappiest quality. Just as I decided to buy them in bulk quantities, the stitching unraveled. You know where the butt crease is, where the tops of the ass and hamstrings partition? Unbeknownst to me, this was happening as I was squatting and distracted the poor guys trying to hold heavily weighted Olympic bars above their shoulders while staring at my lady lumps bend up and down. For general safety, and my dignified demureness, I will pass up the shitty hot pants. And I wrote a strongly worded letter to Nike.
12/14 Direct Link
Side effects were expected but they've dragged me down to nearly rock bottom. Well, that certainly is an exaggeration, as I'm not beyond embellishing a story to avoid a boring life. It has been spectacle after spectacle. I have reason to believe meds have altered my better judgment and my access to social skills (and my word bank). My moods are no longer a rollercoaster, but I haven't adjusted my extreme behavior to the stability which I think is in direct relation to the retarding motor skills. Basically, I don't know which way is up or down. Vertigo, perhaps? Ha.
12/15 Direct Link
My liver resents the various types of intoxication I've subjected it to. I just can't bring myself to eat before the pill (hence the occasional food binge/gluttony). The nausea is excruciating, inducing intolerable amounts of bitching and moaning, whining and complaining, and exhausting efforts excusing a visit to the butcher/doctor. I busy myself with fascinating books, which I've no idea what they're about since I can barely concentrate. Spending bunches of my dollars with money I hardly have. This will all blow over on its own. My audience can only handle so much fussing. I get on my own nerves.
12/16 Direct Link
On a lighter note, so much goodness has been recently introduced into my mediocre life. Up a notch. I don't speak of it often, because the best songs are about heartbreak. I experience my joy in a way I haven't yet verbally identified. My eloquence is reserved for the melancholic. I wish I knew how to express my newfound love/lust stories, a surreal grown-up growth spurt, and the solidification of some awesome relationships. In some way, it busts through my skin by the music I listen to, the speed of my driving, and the amount of greeting cards I buy.
12/17 Direct Link
Somewhere I heard/read that the brain only accesses memories that you are capable of handling, as a protection of your sanity. I suppose if I cracked, it would mean that a memory slipped to into my stream of consciousness and permeated into my reality all over again. But my grey matter has suppressed any shred of evidence from that horrid night. There is not a single neuron giving hint as to what exactly happened. Not a nerve is being struck upon. I feel immense relief in not having to relive my worst mistake. Thank you, my imperfect, but striving brain.
12/18 Direct Link
These feet, although sock covered, still get ice cold under the sheets. They could use another’s pair to keep warm. The tiny wire hooks found at the top of the zipper’s length, it calls for more than ten fumbling fingers. That dream that makes me whimper at midnight, it’s soothed into a peaceful rest by the gentlest, almost unperceivable touch. And that itch on the weird spot in my middle back, not quite the upper section…it needs a foreign hand for a satisfying scratch. I could use a hand. Or foot. What are you doing the rest of your life?
12/19 Direct Link
My appearance is of current preoccupation. It's not rooted by shallowness, but an awareness of how clothing, shoes, and posture represent the kind of person I consider myself and how I expect to be perceived to a certain degree. (It's true how you can tell a lot from a person's shoes). I've upgraded the maturity in my dress. Classic sophistication, hinting a slight tinge of revelry. It's expensive, but I'm progressively succeeding. I can't control how they view me, but I'm in satisfied in my efforts to lift myself with smooth sleek sweaters, neatly coated nails, and perfectly arched heels.
12/20 Direct Link
It's regrettable that it came to that, but at least you figured it out early, while you're still healthy and loaded with vitality. That stuff is poison to you, don't bring it in the house. And if you find yourself staring down the rim of a bottle, listening to the fizz tease from the surface, make it your automatic reaction to call on me. I'll rub gin on my lips and give you a little taste. You can overindulge on me with reckless abandonment. Let me be the one to get you light headed. I'll be there in the morning.
12/21 Direct Link
Although I promised the universe I would erase every memory of you from the mind fields they weaved to let you in my life, I have no issues with taking back my words. My energies are being tested, exerting motions in my heartbeat, helplessly watching you spiral down a tunnel of fierce velocity. But in the brief connection we'd formed, I know that the falling down you're experiencing is of stretched time, warped to make time excruciating and cruelly making you stare down every wrong turn you took in slow motion. I want to be there when you hit land.
12/22 Direct Link
My beloved feathered attachments are blood drenched as I labor lacing them back along the length of my spine. My frail fingers provide no delicacy as I maneuver the sharpest needle forged, carving scars in a last attempt for redemption. Stars are born, another gets their wings. Lightning strikes, I'm sent below. I find my veins drained of glow, pale and languid, wandering the soiled earth, avoiding anything road with destination in sight. What was I thinking that I could endure eternity? Didn't I covet the mortal consequence of being among them? Didn't I foresee I would become fallen angel?
12/23 Direct Link
Do yourself a favor:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvWSbUcKWQM

It takes off at 0:55, then close your eyes.

I believe in people lying
I believe in people dying
…people trying
...people crying
…people balking
…people talking
… people breathing
… people being


I believe in different reasons
I believe in breath through seasons
I believe when snow flakes fall
I believe in buildings tall

I believe in people bombing
I believe in people warring
I believe diseases coming
I believe that's why I'm running

I believe in people falling
I believe in people warring
I believe diseas is coming
I believe that's why I'm running
12/24 Direct Link
To earn a day off, you have to inject yourself with something dangerously viral. Preferably something lethal, keeping the existence of an antidote occult until you fully recuperate from the oppression of 8-5, ready to join the work field. We don't get a break unless we're in the 3 hour waiting room of a doctor or require blood transfusions. Otherwise, we're losing precious income. We haven't all felt the pangs of asphyxiation, but we are slowly, painfully drowning in the gradual descent of our collapsing economy. I've considered turning tricks for an easier living, but then I'll really be infected.
12/25 Direct Link
To earn a day off, you have to inject yourself with something dangerously viral. Preferably something lethal, keeping the existence of an antidote occult until you fully recuperate from the oppression of 8-5, ready to join the work field. We don't get a break unless we're in the 3 hour waiting room of a doctor or require blood transfusions. Otherwise, we're losing precious income. We haven't all felt the pangs of asphyxiation, but we are slowly, painfully drowning in the gradual descent of our collapsing economy. I've considered turning tricks for an easier living, but then I'll really be infected.
12/26 Direct Link
How believe are these investigative, forensic, profiling shows? It makes me nearly insane enough to commit the same type of disorganized crimes they depict. Sure, science is exact and far enough advanced to solve mysteries. But how come it is, they're always on the mark. They always guess right the first time? Are there not a limitless amount of variables as to why they're conclusions are dead-end? And the reason I believe their too far fetched to be plausible, is because everyone on staff types lightning fast, error-free, and their super quantum computers never crash! No glitches…who are they kidding?
12/27 Direct Link
Everyday my mind picks an obsession on which to ruminate on. It chews and churns any random topic, usually based on polar opposites such as pleasure or pain. The lucky winner today: Cupcakes. I may have dreamed it up. Somehow it was excavated from my subconscious, exposed, and is now my one mission of the day. I will ignore the demand to think about it, but the more you try to bury a thought, the more persistent it grows. By the end of the day, I will either loose my shit controlling the thought or make out with a cupcake.
12/28 Direct Link
Often times I don’t look into people’s eyes. Contrary to what I’d led myself to fear, that I’m timid, it’s been smack in front of my face. I fear seeing everything deep inside them. Once I lock into a gaze, it’s the point of no return. It’d be safer to fixate at their gateways if pupils were black holes into a void of mysterious space and time. I want to know nothing past their two event horizons. I focus on foreheads or wired rims. Avoid making contact with the other side. Once I see it all, I feel it all.
12/29 Direct Link
POSITIVITY:

It’s designed to be an anticonvulsant, but it often doubles as a mood stabilizer, which replaces the need for the antidepressant that renders me postal. Usually on overcast days, stabilization is out of the question. In efforts to find something, anything positive, to prevent downward spiraling, I thought of one uplifting token. At least, I will never choke on spit my in bed from a sudden burst of epilepsy. One less way to die (aside from the odds of being mistakenly shot for a squirrel in my redneck neighborhood). And … and…. I won’t accidentally bite off my tongue.
12/30 Direct Link
Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Call me Uhhhh, No.
12/31 Direct Link
I don't have anything to share with the class. There's material all right… but I just don't feel like talking. And I've shut off all the words in my head. They're banned from speaking today. I just want to brood quietly in my anger, that will pass in a few hours, and enjoy the silence in between. I'm not mad at the website. No one holds a gun to my head and says, 'Get it right.' It's supposed to be a self-motivated trophy to express ourselves. But I've imposed this responsibility on myself. Here is your half-assed, half-hearted entry. Sonofa…..