Nov 262001
 

i think i may be ornery because i’m dehydrated and pre-menstrual.

i need chocolate and water.

had a few bad pieces of broccoli last night that sent me to the porcelian god

1-2-3-4-5!!!! times…

bad broccoli + coffee (diuretic) + pms rollercoaster + work = homicidal maniac.

i’m off to press D2 for a snickers…

Nov 252001
 

ah, breakfast with the beatles on a quiet sunday morning with sleepy kitkats, one load tumbling in the dryer and another doing a watery and slippery twist next door. piles of notes and cardiology books, i’ve got to get myself together and write this case study, get ready for my oral report…

i’m craving just one puff or maybe two, but i’m glad i’ve quit, it’s really a stinky habit, i hate my clothes and sheets smelling like a bar, plus it’s silly to have to pay for the possibility of cancer…heck i can get that free, just breathing air…

now, i’m bouncing from station to station, no thin white duke here, it’s a pink floyd morning, with roll over beethoven quickly chasing down that sad beer…

i hate public speaking, that’s why i chose to dance. my body used to make good sentences, now it’s silent and a little bit chubby, perhaps i’ll take a dance class this summer???

it’s gone from feline hip dysplasia to congestive heart failure, and finally to hypertrophic cardiomyopathy with a little fiv thrown in for good measure…

i wish i could just bring ms. sheera in and let her explain her ailments, i’ll sit and be good like any good cat owner should…


*has anyone figured out i deleted about 400 entries? hence the 777

roadtrip…

 Uncategorized  Comments Off on roadtrip…
Nov 252001
 

“Would we be willing to reinstate a national speed limit of 55 m.p.h. if it would significantly reduce our dependency on foreign oil? If you are willing to send troops into war to protect your right to drive 70 m.p.h., then I suggest you take the flag off your car.”

Ann Patchett

The Long Drive Home

NY times Magazine 11/25/2001


my sentiments exactly.

Nov 242001
 

warm grey day and i’m shuffling through the fall leaves and nut gathering squirrels and my eye traces the curve of this world and it lingers over big sky country, my mind pretends to sit in front of your fireplace…

i’d wish for below freezing temps and falling snowflake miracles, God’s winter doodles floating down like ballerinas that duet with mr. nightsky…

there’s nothing that can bring in a winter landscape better than the soft acoustic guitar, the silvery grey sky, and natural rouge on pale cheeks…

it’s moments when a simple midday walk to get the milk and bread, the endless supply of cat litter, when it all comes rushing at me like some crazed mugger… i’m feeling flush all over…

i’m not in charge of this story, it’s writing itself, i’m just along for the ride, hoping it’s a long steady one, i’ve grown up and can do without the scary dips or sisyphus pushing rock climbs…

it shouldn’t be that hard, love is only a four letter word…

Nov 232001
 

the cats are stoned on catnip and curled up fast asleep. sitting here re-writing my notes and changing my navigation buttons…

i’ve yet to shower, yet to speak a word. it’s what happens when you live alone, you forget you have vocal chords…

it’s afternoon now, and the day is showing off it’s gorgeous sunshiney dress, people walking in and out of the produce place, poor carrots and string beans, they’ll be steaming soon enough…

and the day is progressing to eventually take off her dress, a navy blue night slip will show, earlier than i think or expect…

and what have i done today, or even yesterday? called mom, spoke to sis, studied for a final exam… meditated on how mixers will live on to smear life’s pretty picture window with their own foul dung…it’s always easier to spot them, when they raise their smelly hands…

if there was no race to be the best, their wouldn’t be such outrageousness, get rid of the top ten…