sehr_gotisch

as i cruised in to work this morn, i watched the fog roll o'er a hill, sun beginning to shine and all i could think was i want to go back, i wannagoback, i need to go back. i.must.get.back. it has been of considerable comfort to this old girl that the present digs really look quite like devon and the surrounding areas. ev'ry day something reminds me, something jogs a memory loose from this bird brain, something causes pause and reflection. must wait for saffron to get a little older so she will remember the trip fore'er.

the wee'an sings and talks and dances and laughs incessantly to my delight. she is beautiful, and i worship her. steven buys us flowers, and we recently purchased her une chat; mr. sherlock holmes.

i live for making pasta from scratch, and listening to folk music. i fear i've gone so, so, post punk, i'm almost a hippie.

life is quiet and life is good.
cm

je suis une mère


this hiatus was unforgivable. finding out that one is cinq moins pregnant can be a real downer round the holidays-- i don't recommend it. i did not have much to offer you, gentle reader, while i came to terms avec a very unexpected pregnancy and made preparations for the arrival of l'enfant.

saffron maida vale-strummer jeffries made her grand entrance at 10:14 pm, trois mai of this jahr. i am amused that she shares her birthday avec the godfather of soul. i arrived at hospital roundabout seven o'clock that same evening. labour was terribly painful for about five minutes...right before i started pushing. [does it come as any surprise that i demanded to deliver sans drugs?]

i cannot leave her side, and i adore her immensely. coming from someone who hates children, a big step. [i still hate children, just not mine...] steven has been an amazing father; doting, attentive, happy. the look on his eek when she does something amazing or cute is quite priceless.

how this bijou vie hath changed.
cm

and so i did the hardest thing i've e'er in this vie done, i signed a consent form to euthanise my favourite child. he purred as i held him, crying- perpetually the rock. as i ran into the lav to get "one last thing" before work, he sat, still and strange on the area rug. i spoke to him, and he couldn't e'en look me in the ogles. as he stood to come closer to me, i noticed profound swelling bilaterally present on his sides. i panicked. i felt him and his fur felt lackluster and cold-- i immediately rang de and woke her.

de drove down to the ro and collected monsieur and took him to the veterinary office where she worked after high school hoping to get him seen, and stat. the doctor worked him in, and kind of attended to him betwixt other patients. as she sat in the car avec him before the office opened, i had her put me on speaker phone so i could reassure him. she said his ears perked and he moved toward the phone.

i got out of work early, and we went to the clinic straight away- de told me that she'd an update from the vet, and that the prognosis was quite poor. we sat there for heures. i cried, and bitterly wished death upon lesser creatures to myself.

monsieur was a beautiful, gleaming gift-- he transcended the feline race-- he was indeed, my baby. i thought of all of the clever things he'd do, and how horribly i'd miss little things, like him saying, "doo" when i said his name. i don't know that i've e'er loved something so deeply and so hard and for so long in all ma vie. i can't e'en describe what he means to me.

i stroked him aprés signing his vie a-way, i cried unto him, clutched him, trying to engrave upon my brain how amazing he felt in my arms; a perfect fit. he was very content, and was content to comfort me. i reiterated to him how i loved him- it became my mantra. i rang matthew, and let him say good-bye. i heard him choke a few things out, and watched as monsieur's ears perked to his voice, and his purr grew louder-- he had grown to love matthew so. as i walked out of the office, i touched his perfect paw one final time and told him that we'd meet again.

i feel so hollow and empty, and i just want to sleep.
cm

31 octobre:

«peter just called me, and he said she's stopped breathing-- she's probably not going to make it...»

«she's gone.»

and so in some asshole costume, i spent my all hallows eve trying to keep pieces to-gether, trying to keep some semblance of sanity both in myself and in the children. to walk up the walkway and into a home that had just been ravaged by death was one of the most anxious and scary moments of my life. here i am, an outsider, trying to be of some service, trying to make these poor people feel less scared and sad and awful. in so doing, i had to conceal my own ill feelings, which was terribly difficile. i made a sort of pact avec myself in the car as i rattled up the drive- i was not going to cry, no- i was going to be comforting and laughing and safe, and i was not going to cry.

i took gordo and de avec me to stevie's and we got drunk and played asshole. i couldn't allow them to stay in such a sad place- not that noche, anyhow.

01 novembre:

i called out of work; we rose and went to the frost, and then made the drive back to west virginia.

02 novembre:

i left work at two, and was scarcely prepared for the wake, which was more of an endurance test than a wake; it lasted from three-thirty to nine-thirty avec une heure of "break". as i walked into the parlour, i shakily signed my name in the guestbook, she caught my ogle. it was at this moment, i became so very thankful of my vanity and disdain for oglefakes. she was resting at a forty-five degree angle; lyf-lyk mortician's wax glowing. she was the colour of barbie, and i felt my stomach churn. i watched helplessly as my gordo crumpled to his knees before the casket, his cry cut through my chest. i felt the tears well up in my throat, britewhiteblue.

swallow them, suck it up, toughen up

we wrote little things on slips of paper to be cremated with her- i wrote, «where ever you end up, keep on dancing and offering up healthy snacks- muchlove». i almost cried again to recall her dancing like a moron as she vacuumed, and her love of wheat thins-- she was into whole grain way before the rest of us realised it was cool.

03 novembre:

i arrived in west virginia around nine and gordo drove me and my car to the funeral. he joked as we walked into the opulent church that he was in the wrong business. the service began avec my de reading some bible passage from the book of job; she became so choked by tears that she couldn't continue. gordo took o'er. i dug my nails deep into my sweating palms as i felt my blood pressure raise. how dare they, thought i, drag these grief besotten children before prying ogles...how DARE they. i wanted to run up to the altar and carry her frame away from there, away from all of the death vultures that knew meredith best and were so very sorry. i know that most of their coeurs were probably in the right place, but my god, at that moment i was angry. grieving is private and personal. grieving people should not be paraded before an audience. i wanted to hold her and get her away, and i knew i couldn't, and it was the most awful and stifling feeling i've probably e'er encountered. it is bad enough that they've lost both of their parents- how could we possibly know how that feels? and how could we expect them to be strong for US and comfort US? no, no, no. i knew at that moment the sadness that de ends up expelling as misdirected anger, i wanted to slap someone.

after the casket was loaded safely onto the hearse, brightside and i just kind of held de, and once she stopped shutting down, and started coming back to us, i called her a crybaby. vulgar, inappropriateness seems to make us feel better. (see card, orphan)

04 novembre:

i left west virginia and headed to stevie's. i needed so very badly for someone to fill me back up- i felt like a husk. i hoped that i gave enough, though i don't think i could have possibly. i love de and gordo so very much, words and actions couldn't possibly convey. i fell asleep a bijou aprés cinq heures last noche, and did not rise until around one, to-day. i had wanted badly to go back to west virginia last evening and do what i could, but i don't think i had anything left, which kind of scares me. i think not crying wore me out more than anything. i couldn't have imagined how hard it was before this- i am the protector, i must remain strong.

05 novembre:

i cried a little in the car on the way home, still feeling a bijou wonky and a might strange-- i could sleep for a few more days, i suppose.


i have watched my very best friends in the world bury their parents in the last week and a half; saturday last it was my su and her daddy- the service was amazing and reaffirmed ev'ry awesome thing that i already suspected and knew of tom peachey. i left the service feeling good about his life instead of sad about his death. i cried a little during the ceremony before realising that we needed to be celebrating, and that tom would have fucking hated to see a room of people crying at his expense-- no we needed to laugh and eat. that is how he would have wanted it. su has an amazing family support system- her mother is a saint, and is so very strong.

i just want this nightmare to be o'er for my friends. i want their pain to end. i wish we were at a place five jahre from now, when it all seems like distant, foreign things, these deaths. i wish i had more to give, i wish i was better at dealing with these things myself so i'd have more to offer my mates. i did my best, and i hope it was enough to carry them through the toughest bits.

i think i should retire for the eve, for fear of becoming a crybaby, myself.
cm

e'er get stifled by the feeling that you're the only one who e'en bothers anymore?

aprés a visit unexpected from a success story from my past, one would think my spirit would be invigorated; renewed. a wee girl who was addicted to drugs and prostituting by douze ans; a wee girl forced to eat from dog dishes is somehow better than okay- she is well. her ogles were clear and pretty and her formerly perpetually scowling eek looked quite content donning a smile.

why did this cosmic reunion not pull me from my myopic funk? i should be rejoicing that i made a difference in this wee girl's vie; one of such significance that she reports back to me jahre later of her successes. i was always hardest on her because i knew that she had the strongest spirit and the best chance for rehabilitation. her therapists threw up there lills and basically said she was a sociopath- i knew better. she always played hard, kept her lip stiff and took the blows life threw at her like a champ. she could not be broken, but she had une coeur, no matter how bijou or well concealed. toward the end of her stay at the group home, she and i built a close relationship. she began to cry to me; a giant step.

this evening finds me sick of perpetually struggling. i accept that i will have to work twice as hard to have half as much as ev'ryone else. sometimes, i get a bijou disheartened, is all. i must not forget to be thankful for all of the things that come easily to me. listening to these old records reminds me of a darker time in ma vie, when things were less clear and very frightening. funny that these songs should sadden me and cheer me at the same time.

ma coeur has a small hurt, and its presence is manifesting in all sorts of ways. a hurt can quite easily permeate throughout this bijou vie. six moins in, and i am still technically single, and it's getting to the point where i feel like there's something wrong avec moi. i am allowing that boy steven to make me feel like an insecure leper. i don't know why i perpetually give the power of my emotions a-way and permit these emotional hijackings. i suppose i would be closer still to camillaperfected if i was to get that under control.

-le sigh-

hooray for cynical jimmy stetson.
cm

i did not crawl into my cosy nest until cing heures cette matin. i pickedatpeeledatscreamedat wallpaper and wallpaper borders for douze heures- pats has bought herself a house, so we got the crew to-gether to do painting and wallpaper removal. little did we know what fate had in store for us...

round mid-noche, we were betwixt tears and dying laughing. as frustration levels rose, many a stupid joke was born- "just cover it in bead-board" was commonly cried out, as was "i'd rather be sucking (name deleted)'s dick". fond memories often spring from adversity. we stood united, and we conquered.

pats has une chien called lily- i am not fond of les chiens; we know this. but baby lilypants was the cutest thing- les chats aside- that i think i have e'er in ma vie seen- she is a bijou pomeranian/chihuahua mix- she looks like a wee white fox. she was so fecking cute, i imagined myself avec une bijou chien- i'd buy her rainslickers and pink dresses and get a purse avec her name embroidered upon it- if i'd not so many babies already, i could have stolen lilypants. i played avec her and held her like une bébé.

i will soon be going to a barbeque at jennie-patt's avec my stevie. it's been too long since i've seen the crew. it will be nice to catch up avec ev'ryone.

vertigo is the bizomb.
cm

this morning was crazy. i was running pretty late- i usually leave my flat round seven forty-five or seven fifty to get to work on time. this morning, the clock in the mozzer read "7:02" when i turned the key. as i backed out, i heard a dragging noise and promptly stopped the car. the source? oh, yes, of course my catalytic converter had become detached again. as late as i was running, i had to jack up my car, get under it, and reattach the catalytic converter. i actually jacked my car, fixed it, and lowered it in under five minutes. as i got onto route three forty, my low petrol indicator came on. i know that as long as the indicator is lit, that i am okay- after the petrol gets too low, the indicator turns off. as i neared the intersection of route fifty, the light turned off. i was forced to stop at the sheetz at the intersection. the islands were uncharacteristically empty- a rarity at that particular sheetz. i swung up to a pump, got a few dollars (so as to save time) of petrol and flew back out of the parking lot.

there was a white dodge caravan in front of me pulling out of sheetz- «fecking great, fecking mini-van» i thought to myself. this mini-van proceeded to shoot out of the parking lot like a silver bullet made by gary busey- i was shocked. i hauled arse out behind them. they were speeding up three-forty at terrible speeds- i know because my speedometre read seventy-five and they were still ahead of me. i wished that there was some way i could find out who the driver was, so i could thank them for not being slow. as we were both stuck at the light in berryville, i happened to notice a grafton magnet on the back of their hatch- we both hit eighty-five down seven and they flew down to the treatment centre, while i booked it up to the manor house.

somehow i made it to work on time- i clocked in a seven thirty-three; i'm not considered tardy until seven thirty-six. and so my sterling attendance continues. i will determine later who drives the white minivini and thank them personally. they made my day.

ah, so one thirty-eight hath passed once more. six ans seems like yester-day and a million jahre ago all at the same time. i hadn't much of an opportunity to celebrate, which is unfortunate. i have lived many bijou epochs in the last six jahre- strange, that. it's bizarre to think of all of the people i've known and loved and lost. when i think upon this past six jahre, i am keenly aware of my progress (baby steps) toward camillaperfected. hurrah pour moi.

things seem to be going swimmingly in ma vie, these days. i could use more clams, but this is always the case. cinquième de septembre is joan of arc, and i can scarcely wait. the trip across the pond is growing closer and closer and the excitement the notion brings makes ma coeur skip a beat or two.

back to workiez avec moi.
cm

drew beak, ma chaton, a dix ans aujourd'hui. it scarely seems like that long ago that i found him, a tiny stray in ma soeur's side yard. he has lived avec moi ev'rywhere, and seen avec moi ev'rything. i love him so very much. to celebrate, i bought treats for all of mes enfants to share avec him this eve.

i realised as i drove to work this morning, that the same people that are all about "american pride" because of nine-eleven and sport those ribbon magnet thingies would have certainly been nazis during world war two. i believe them to possess similar mentalities. people that "buy in" so easily to concepts so grand and so fluid as nationalism worry me. (i suppose by default then, religious zealotry is a kissing cousin of this nouveau patriotism.) my life is arguably unimportant and uninteresting to the masses, but it keeps me so well occupied and engaged that i seldom look outside to the world for extra problems and woe. myopia well suits me.

i am a bijou fatigué from staying up late and watching louis malle films all evening, ascenseur pour l'échafaud, et le souffle au coeur. both were very good, particularly the former.

i am off of work, to-morrow. i get to stay at my stevie's and make dinner and play donna reed. hurrah!
cm

quite interesting was the karmic superhighway that created such unlikely a circumstance:

last evening, He rang my mobile. unexpected.atHisparents'.dinner?likewhoa. so i met up avec that Boy at mexico lindo. upon arriving whom do i spy exiting his vehicle, but tim, the boy i left to pursue my nanel almost six jahre ago avec his girlfriend. tim sat across the restaurant from us and didn't seem to notice us...what a wacky coincindence- certainly the powers that be are trying to tell me something. de will crack the code, for sure.

so we ate dinner and talked and laughed and then we went to the petrol mart and then went about adventuring. we went to woodstock tower and entertained one another by reading graffiti left by previous visitors. we watched as the sun began to set, before heading back to fro ro. once we returned home, we drove about a bit, listening to a mix cd that tim westberg had made for Him and then listened to tim kinsella (and He turned up track six and stated that He liked it, so there!). we decided to go to skyline drive to the o'erlooks. as i sat upon the ground looking down o'er fro ro, stripedsummery dress pooled round my hips, i wondered how it is that He and i find ourselves in the most ridiculously romantic settings dans le monde, time aprés time. sunsets, long walks along the beach, scenic views...christ! totally ridiculous. He sang me a song about ursa major, His former pet squirrel and ma coeur melted a bijou. on the way down the mountain, He played me the unmixed, unmastered überdoofs album due out this fall. it was fantastic, and i noted what a unique sound they've indeed established. He said that He thought He was boring me, i told him to fuck off- surely He knows that music, especially His, means more to me than anything else. He played me cody chesnutt and we laughed at the lyrics.

size seven and a half in women's zipped loafers (basic editions) from kmart ne'er looked so fashion forward.
i told Him to grow His beard back because i thought it was awesome.
i called the cut-offs He was wearing when last we met clam-diggers, hilarity ensued.
«i'm sorry i'm so tall»
«i'm sorry i'm so short»
i finally gave Him his christmas presents. He hugged me in the car, and then said that hugging in the car was difficile. He was taken avec how thoughtful the books were.

...and in other equally amazing news:

de booked our flight for the trip across the pond.
one word: falconry.
one more word: word!
cm

excuse the subject line-- i said it the autre jour and thought myself terribly funny. (c'est vrai, bien sur...je suis trés amusant, or something)

the new make believe songs are unspeakably cool. they've released two songs from their forthcoming album just to drive me insane avec anticipation. tim kinsella slays me. i just got the new joan of arc compilation rarities album via post to-day- in looking at the liner notes, i realised that because i am a creep and own a lot of their seven inches, that i had most of their rarities. i don't know that i like any one other than mozzer so well as to foray into seven inches and obscurities- tim kinsella, consider yourself lucky; i adore you as much as the mozzer. i didn't well realise that until to-day.

and when pressed to explain why i love you so much, tim kinsella, i ne'er know quite what to say. i mean, you're prolific, you're handsome-- these things are obvious to ev'ryone. there's just something deeply moving and powerful about your playing and your talk/sing/scream vocals. live, you're like a downed power line snapping into the street...critics hate you and call you a pretentious twit, but i can't help loving you more and more avec each release. your music moves in time avec my brain and soothes me. i can visualise you dancing about on stage to your new songs, because i know how you move to different pitches.

tim kinsella owns me.
cm

i noticed that i am attracted to two distinctly different types of people; social/fun people and the intelligista. seldom do both traits occur in the same person. i can only think of a handful of people avec whom i can discuss the end of the world whilst on rollerskates.

i guess the point is that perhaps i've been looking for this nigh on impossible combination because i've found it a few times in people i've encountered. mostly i find that the intelligista are socially awkward and emotionally unavailable, and the social/fun people aren't ambitious enough or into meaning of life styleez conversations.

life is all about balances.

right now, i am strangling myself avec inactivity. leastways i have the strong desire to create, to-day.
cm

i don't like that my girl is so far a-way... my separation anxiety is compounded by that silly dream i had the noche before her departure. i don't know why i am missing her so-- it's not like we see each other daily, or anything, but for some reason, i am painfully aware of the distance betwixt us.

i am prone to ringing her for no reason and telling her how i miss her so, and how i love her so dearly. life just seems less fun sans her presence. perhaps she, and not just He, is my missing piece. i feel that i function best when she is around; My Anchor. she tethers me firmly to the ground. (it would be so easy for this eccentric broad to float aimlessly though life.)

she lends me a greater sense of purpose, is all. e'en when i feel that i am at my most mediocre, she finds Greatness in me, and makes me feel better about my accomplishments. she loves hearing stories about les chats, and reads my myspace messages from other people when she clandestinely logs in as me. she makes this bijou vie seem noteworthy and important.

oh, mah-ree. i miss you, i miss you, i miss you.
cm

so i went out for chinois avec the new case manager, scott, to-day. i got heaps of shit from ben and gildy when i returned to work, because apparently two people of the opposite sex can't dine to-gether sans fucking. c'est la vie.

i like how articulate he is, and how diverse his musical tastes are. he seems terribly well-cultured and he is very witty. we're to be fast friends for sure. mayhaps we'll e'en hang out outside of work...who knows?

he gave me a copy of his album to-day, so i made him a mix cd avec owen, devendra banhart, owls, against me!, b+s, billy bragg, josh rouse, the good life and the decembrists on it. it's all very low-key, because he's a low-key sort of bloke. i'll ease him into snack truck and joan of arc o'er time, of course.

how does one girl go about meeting so many musicians in such a small area?

i'm not certain what my plans are this week-end. i should probably stay home avec a cuppa, and watch my french films that came through in the netflix this aft. i had antipated watching one of them this eve, but found my attention span painfully short. all i wanted to do was listen to music.

i miss my girl. perhaps i will go to her house for the week-end as she advised. i could wash my kit and roll around amongst things that smelled like her and feel less alone. i feel a bijou bit like an island...

bull in the heather like a mother fucker.
cm

or something like that...tom petty ne'er was my forté.

have i mentioned recently that it's nice to be around band boys? i really do function best in a creepy donna reed sort of capacity. i relish in little things like going to the petrol mart and picking up krispy kremes for the boys. i need to start wearing my donna reed apron, like, full time.

oh, to be a housewife! how wonderful that would be! no worries of money or distractions of work! i could just focus on myself all day long! art and coffee and music and french films...why e'er did women fight to work? what stupid creatures! because some bitches got a riah up their arse, i have to slave a-way at a stupiddayjob just to make ends meet? how unfair is that? i just wish i had a choice is all- i've competed avec men in highly skilled job situations, and i've won out more times than not. i am comfortable avec my intellect; i've nothing to prove. they have the dicks, and that's okay. i don't feel compelled to o'ercompensate avec corporate savvy.

some day, some one will make me their bijou wifey and i'll make things from scratch and finally learn proper french.

to-day is old nanel rappole's twenty-sixth birthday. i sent Him an email. ev'ryone needs to learn my language so i don't have to kill myself avec proper english, as witnessed below:

subject: joyeux anniversaire, butterhead!
message:

beepollen, bella;

i realise that you're probably out in the woods being a rockstar and won't be reading this until after your birthday, and that's okay. just wanted you to know that i'm sending good, birthday veebles (that's de and i speak for "vibes") your way.

twenty-six doesn't feel as old as i'd anticipated-- you'll find it a good age, as well.

like i mentioned in the myspace message, i will most likely be coming to your kansas house show. i don't know if i'll be bringing any friends- (my de is in pennsylvania playing war games. she just left yester-day morning, and already i miss her terribly) please let us pretend that my christmas gift for you is a birthday gift, and then it won't seem so bizarre. leastways having a wrapped gift in my living room for seven months has served as an interesting conversation piece-- i'm almost sad to see it go.

we must get to-gether for drinks and chaos some time. i have grown to loathe email, and i know you have scheiße to do at your shows and can't eff about talking to me.

the very best, and all my love!
camillamah-ree

i am going to focus my attentions now on le café.
cm

subject line stolen from a conversation held earlier in the week that left a thumbprint on this brain. i am particularly aware that the first cuppa is always the best, cette matin.

i've been fixing shoes in various states of decay avec industrial adhesive/sealant. i can now wear my electric blue eight holes once more because i fixed the sole. i have a pair of sandals in a make-shift vice sur le table, presently. being poor is not sans its wiles; resourcefulness and waste-not-want-not-ness are second nature. i looked at my poor shoes, and patted myself on the back for holding on to them. so many people would have thrown them out at the first sign of wear-- and e'en once they were unwearable, i clung to them, knowing one day i'd find a glue strong enough to repair them. getting use out of things that are practically useless is a good trait to possess.

my girl is in pennsylvania for two weeks doing field exercises avec fake blood and splatter. (the army calls this splatter "moulage", but that, infact, is the incorrect term) i am anxious and miss her already. my anxiety filtered into my dreams last noche; subsequently, i dreamt she drown dans le mer. it was horrible. i was in shock at first in the dream and then i cried and cried. -shudder- though us pair have learned so very much about death and grieving in the past jahr, i think i'd still lose it if something were to happen to her physical being. as i peed this morning, i reminded myself that e'en when we do die, we'll not be sans the other for long. i was comforted in a small way by that notion. i tried ringing her mobile because i wanted to hear that she was okay, and that my dream wasn't premonitory in nature. no answer. i left her a schmoopsie message, and figured that she was on a chopper doing something out of character and butch. in the dream i was trying to explain to her mère how much i loved her; how she was my girlfriend, sans the sex.

i love my mates--yester-day, my su sent me a great article about the practise of "breast-ironing" in cameroon. i howled and howled at my desk.

life is all about giving and receiving love, we must remember.
cm

i was so consumed by boredom this evening that i cleaned my lav and then listened to kate rusby per the recommendation of the new case manager at work. he's awesome, how-e'er...his recommendation is...er, comme çi comme ça.

i watched some ghosty programmes earlier, and they weren't very good.

i don't like spending week-ends sans my de or sans my stevie.

-le sigh-

i was thinking as i wandered through the chow meow (with my bijou blue basket chock full o' o'erpriced organic wares) that it's not good enough. this stevie thing is just not good enough. he almost makes me feel kind of insignificant-- he is always able to make plans with his mates weeks in advance, but when i try to make plans e'en a day in advance, he can't give me a straight answer. and then he waits until the last minute and makes plans avec moi. and i'm making it clear that i want to know if this is to go no-where.




^^i can't make up my chuffing mind^^




and when he didn't immediately include me in his plans for this evening, i played it safe (like iggy pop) and didn't include myself. i was out of earshot from my mobile when a call came through from him round eight...i noticed mere minutes later. i couldn't allow myself to ring him back-- i'm sure it was to change plans at the last possible second, or to kill time or something similarly lame. mayhaps he felt a pang of guilt that i'd no plans, and he was going to the pictures avec his mates.

either:
a> he's an emotional cripple that is trying to maintain boundaries because he's so very damaged;
-or-
b> he's just not very into me, and i'm someone to fuck until the real thing comes along.

and i'm thinking, in either case...fuck this. he seemed so well-adjusted when first we met, and now, i've unearthed this emotionally unavailable clone of ev'ry other fuckwad avec whom i've traded.

what gives?!

leastways He now has a myspace account, and i can put Him at the beginning of my top eight instead of über doodz. the minutia avec which i concern myself...honestly. the mind boggles.

it may seem aimless, but i follow my heart.
cm

i am surprisingly alert this morn, despite my lack of sleep-- how spooky. my drive to work was punctuated by some of the slowest moving vehicles on earth, making me rant and scream and curse a blue streak. i did, however, see a tractor from the future. i smiled as i saw it gliding toward me in the oncoming lane. i even muttered aloud, «it's from the future...» and then cracked myself up.

stand before me in awe, little ones, for mine ogles beheld the tractor from the future. surely a sight so magnificent would bore holes into your unrefined retinas.

it was a giant john deere tractor that rose about six feet from the ground on a pair giant, spindly wheels. it looked something like an insect robot. it also boasted dual crane action- they were black and ominous and quite looked like pinchers clinging to its sides. i can't for the vie of me understand what purpose such a strange-looking machine would serve. i expect its sole purpose is to make other tractors shake in their bearings, for it is the tractor from the future. (insert zither music just then, and mayhaps a neato theramin sound)

git`r done.
cm

goodness, gracious sakes!

i have been quite le abeille occupée as of late. stevie's big reunion show was samedi at the nine-thirty. de and i missed alleged bricks, but caught supreme commander again- and i quite like them. they sound a bijou like minor threat, and they make me feel warm and young. the twats were pretty decent, too. de liked the chick vocallist. we were on the backstage balcony when the goons went on- i was slapping tummies avec stevie's luke, and we were screaming that serge was a large mammal. how dignified. i am like, so grown-up.

when the dcs took the stage, i was a little nervous. i was right under stevie, and i scarcely took my ogles off of him the entire set. i watched as he tipsily read o'er the set list- repeatedly. i watched as he nodded his head, keeping time and preparing for changes; they were two distinct, but similar bijou nods. he made ogle contact avec moi once- i was terrified that my intent glare had distracted him- but he made a silly bill cosby eek at me and carried on.

i felt stupid because i've clandestinely been listening to the dcs, preparing for the show, and i sang along avec quite a few numbers. don't know why, really, just made me feel like a bit of a creep.

it's sweltering dans le flat.
i want an ice lolly.
cm