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 |  probably stuff i think is funny. or aggravating. or both. |
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| it's snowing!!!!! or, it was a couple of hours ago. it's snowed!!!!!! like, 1-2 inches!! okay, people. maybe this news isn't a big deal for you. but this is TUCSON. it's 28 degrees outside, little piles of snow everywhere. people are making snowmen!!! woohoooo!!!!! daisy was hilarous, dragging us around in it like a rabid sled dog. cacti shiver, topped with white, fluffy mohawks. it IS a winter wonderland. where's bing?? |
| it's the universal struggle. me vs my fat. i've tried hating it, loving myself more, the moderate diet, the 'good' diet, the 'go-to-hell' diet (my current favorite). i used to be quite athletic (gymnastics, bicycling, volleyball, aerobics), quite the slim lil' dickens. i grew up active, biking/walking/skipping everywhere. climbing trees. running from really big, hungry dogs. so i know what being fit and relatively healthy feels like. and this ain't it. but how did i get here from there? it used to be so easy. so natural. i still walk a lot, compared to the average person who isn't a marathon walker. but now, when i try to exercise, i feel sad. inadequate. all that awkward, sweaty, floppy humping around just reminds me of how far away from my former (real) self i am. i'm not even huge. i'm just kinda dumpy. about 20 lbs away from feeling all right with myself. i know the advice would be, if i were to counsel a friend in the same situation, 'hang in there. keep plugging along. don't forget to treat yourself once in a while. you didn't adopt this lifestyle in a few weeks, so it'll take longer to get back to your old self. moderation is key.' yes. but i'm beginning to think this isn't the case. not really. easy to maintain where you're at, than to make a radical change. duh. so, to make real headway, i do need to follow a strict health-conscious diet. i do need to come home after work (or get up significantly earlier several days a week--and we know how likely that is) and exercise after walking, squatting, lifting books all day. there is no leeway. not for me. not at my age. and that just leaves me with the dwindling hope. and the nagging anxiety that my boyfriend will finally lose patience with his fat-obsessed, fatty mcfathead girlfriend and either move on, or quietly assuage his need for pleasant visuals with an internet porn fixation, or real-life cuties. yes, i'm that paranoid. the more i worry, the farther away i feel from getting anywhere. the more paralyzed i get. and the whole time, he's eating steaks, drinking sodas, hours of hedonistic lounging after work...i envy him his guilt-free relaxation. how do i stop sabatoging myself? i'm serious, here. it always looks simple, on the surface. underneath, it's a morass of fear, guilt, shame, anger & longing. and that's before watching MTV. |
| i think we (we, being our species) fool ourselves about a lot of things. it's a self-preservation tool. we tell ourselves we're smarter, stronger, more interesting than we really are. we tell ourselves we're captains of our own destiny, when there're really too many variables in our lives to have much real control over anything. psych 101: studies have shown that people who have a realistic view of their place in the world have a significantly higher probablility of depression than those who keep the disillusion at bay. we need the fantasy. if we accepted how little we matter in the universe, and how little time we actually have to be here, scurrying about, struggling to make a difference, we may suffer from greater clarity, but we'd lose our motivation to even try. and the biological imperative can't have that. so we're wired to be egotistical. having the illusion we're better makes us so, because the few who see the world as it is tend not to have children, or fight to succeed. realists are weaker. although, on the other hand. if being a realist is like being the second son, then the burden of keeping the status quo is lifted. we don't have to lead the charge. we're free to invent our life purpose for ourselves, and do, or do not. we suffer from lack of expectation, but we also operate under the radar. if we were talking about skinks (which probably don't worry about much at all, beyond locating the nearest tasty cricket), or marmosets (yes, let's go with marmosets), this secondary class would probably just spend their days helping to babysit the alpha couple's offspring. they'd pick the nits from their superiors' behinds. spend a lot of time avoiding humiliation. because we are who we are, we have imagination. our extra-wrinkly brains give us what reality can't. so, what's reality worth? |
| what is it about scottish men? or, the idea of scottish men: fearless, loyal, rebellious, big-boned and red-cheeked, laughing at hardships others would curdle over. and the accent. och, lass. perhaps those who are familiar with scots on a personal level are chuckling--braying outright--at my romantic notions. it's true. most of what i think about scotsmen are from novels. the rest from mike myers. 'if it's no' scottish, it's crrrap!!' hee. but i like the fantasy. i'm from texas. never rodeo'd, or brush hogged, or rocked in a breezeway, far as i know. i have whittled, though, and i do have a bit of twang to me. i understand the value of the exotic in daily politics. and more so, the value of taking someone by their intentions, rather than their actual words, or actions. but what the FRICK is dubya doing??? this is no fantasy, george. this is a nightmare. any minute now, i'm either gonna wake up, or suddenly appear on a highland hill, cradled in heather, rolling around with a braw, red-headed scot. (i'm sure a singing monkey riding a kumquat the size of a public bus will be in there somewhere, too. but that's for another time.) i just hope i can wake up to a country i feel marginally better about. i may not wake up until 2008, the way things are going. |
| also, my computer crapped out a few days ago...just got back online...need to catch up... *pant, pant* ...need sustenance...*wheeze*....back later. (for you pervs out there, i've secretly named my computer 'lulubelle'. clean up yer acts.) |
| just a quick one... http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.jsp?articleId=281474976881959 interesting contest opportunity, for those of you who have completed manuscripts & wanna be published. |
| do you remember bill hicks? southern boy, angry, brilliant, and god, was he funny. he died in his 30s from pancreatic cancer. i wonder sometimes what he'd be up to nowadays. in his monologues, he seemed eerily prescient sometimes of the stuff going on today. don't tell anyone this, but i also thought goat boy was intensely sexy. i know. i belong in prison. but we would've been happy together, there. *sigh* "The world is like a ride at an amusement park. It goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question: Is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, "Hey - don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride ..." But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok. Jesus-- murdered; Martin Luther King-- murdered; Malcolm X-- murdered; Gandhi-- murdered; John Lennon-- murdered; Reagan ... wounded. But it doesn't matter because: It's just a ride. And we can change it anytime we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money that we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace. " god love ya, bill. http://www.billhicks.com/ |
| make it stop. i'm a dweller. by that, i don't mean i tend to keep my stuff and spend my time in a dwelling, although, that's accurate, too. but, i do tend to spend too much time musing. and i have no illusions this makes me intelligent, or interesting. sometimes the opposite, because while other people are accomplishing, or discussing important ideas, i'm off in la-la land. actually trilling a little ditty: 'la la laaa....', as i turn inward to consider the longterm effects of excessive bellybutton lint. or socks that're too small. will some coroner someday write in his report that i died from an embolism caused by tight socks? you never know... but my point, my reason for being here today, is that i'm beginning to believe action is more important than thought. which goes against my standing beliefs. but what good is lotsa brain stuff happening, if nothing is done to make those brilliant ideas a reality? hence, the democrats. i also found (i lie--it was sent to me by my huggylipnibblins) this website. an index of famous (for various reasons) people's last words. entertaining, sure. surprisingly profound, after sifting through dozens of the quotes. each of these people faced and passed through their mortality, each one conscious of the happening, and commented on the moment. everyone dies. sure, we know this. we don't think about it in an immediately personal sense too often, but somehow, reading the last words of these others long-dead, death feels more personal. i better start planning out what i'm gonna say... anyhoo, visit and see what you think. http://www.geocities.com/athens/acropolis/6537/realidx.htm |
| all right, all right...i don't know how you people do this. lessee...(cracking knuckles) ...down to business. so, today was frustrating. i haven't worked for many different companies, but the situation i find myself in at the moment is the most frustrating to date. i love my job. i love being around books & music & movies all day, i love helping new people learn how to do their jobs, and i love the action of working the salesfloor, especially on weekends. what's driving me nuts right now (and really, has been for the past several months) is the sloth/work avoidance/malicious gossiping/time suckage in which a few of my coworkers seem to specialize. and i don't know why this matters so much to me. why i can't let it go. i see these few people--fellow managers, who hold comparable positions of responsibility--not performing their jobs to the level they could, and i feel sad. i see these people purposefully avoiding significant aspects of their work, leaving it to rot or to others to pick up the slack (and without acknowledgement or thanks), and i am angry. i see these people take actions to the detriment of their coworkers (or worse, underlings), and i am frustrated. why frustrated? the upper mgmt, who could actually do something about this, refuse to. and i'm feeling demoralized. i could give details and scenarios, but trust me, it's the principle of the thing that drives me up the wall. the fact that these people are on my 'team', that their work is held in the same esteem as mine (and i work very hard), leaves me feeling my work has been devalued. if i didn't love the place and job so much, i'd have to think about leaving. as it is, i'm in a quandary. that's right. i said it. a quandary. |
| i was talking last night with P about physics, and metaphysics. he's of the firm belief that the physical world is what we see, what we sense. the tangible is all there is. as i get older, i become more open to the idea of a spiritual world. i've always wanted to believe in magic. ghosts, souls, other planes of existence, an afterlife...but it's never seemed a reasonable answer to the world we experience every day. spirituality has always seemed like magic. religion (new age or old) has seemed like sleight of hand. the idea of a larger consciousness (for lack of a better word), that every living thing is connected, is appealing. i can almost feel that, when i'm away from everything familiar to my everyday life. (especially when i'm away from people; which may be a hint that it's not an idea i subconsciously agree with.) but i long for something more. i don't want someone to lead me to salvation, or to answer the questions of the universe (although, i would like an explanation for why 'wonderfalls' was cancelled. bastards.). i want magic. i want to really believe that if i were to focus my mind, i could sink my hand into a solid surface. i could slow down those molecules, and just slip between them. i could levitate--or even better, fly--by controlling the particles surrounding my body, and manipulate them. rather, i could change the vibrational frequency of my flesh and spirit, and become one with my environment. i love the idea of understanding the universe on such a level, not just with my brain, but with my heart. dare i say, my soul. this is why i love certain SF/horror novels. it's only escapism if you don't want to believe. |
| just brought home the book "The Undead and Philosophy".(isbn:0812696018) now, i bet you're chuckling under your breath, but hear me out. we tend to look down our noses at pop culture, many of us. but this phenomenon, the popularity of the undead in our books & movies, is closely rooted to our conflicted feelings over how we imagine the afterlife. or whether we imagine one at all. i've just started the thing, but i'm already having all sorts of ideas about morality, identity, discerning between being truly dead (or undead) or just living that way... and the wicked sense of humor threaded through each chapter. example: 'chapter 14 the political economy of non-coercive vampire lifestyles'. i rest my case. |
| took daisy for a walk today...we almost never get out together. mainly due to my irrational fear of pit bulls running loose, eating smaller dogs. turns out, not a totally irrational fear. hell, pit bulls tried to eat me and P a couple of years ago. if he hadn't had the quick thinking to toss me up on a brick wall & follow suit, we'da been kibble. meaty, juicy, screaming kibble. i still have the occasional flashback. and i avoid walking around the neighborhood. like bush said, "fool you once....fool me twice.....uhh...well, you just won't get fooled again." i paraphrase. thought about taking down the christmas tree today, but the idea seems so sad. i can't leave it up all year...that would just be silly. plus, next november, i'd lose out on the excitement of bringing out all the old decorations. they'd lose their holiday specialness. unless....what if we left up our holiday decorations, and just added to them each year? think of how festive everyone's houses would get! i've also been considering oral care for my dog. nobody ever talks about it, except for the vets. (veterinarians, not veterans. heh.) and i don't necessarily trust them....i know meat-flavored toothpaste exists, and that doggies can get the gingivitis, just like us monkeys...but picturing it. hm. daisy's such a spaz, she barely sits still long enough for me to clip her leash on. i can't see her posing with her lips pulled back for any length of time. she's no hollywood dog. i'll just have to make sure she's got plenty of dental chewies. i could probably use some, too. |
| young people nowadays. feh. i don't get the whole ipod thing. i can see how having all your music saved on this tiny portable device would be handy, sure. but what i don't get is the growing number of iappliances: ipurses, ishower radios, ilamps(?!)...do we really need to take our personal ear stash everywhere? we can't travel within our own ihouse without physically carrying ipods from iroom to iroom? and what's with wearing the earphones everywhere you go? i see people walking the streets, shopping in grocery stores, at the mall...all with their heads plugged full o' ipod. used to be, people'd nod at each other in passing. sometimes, they'd even make eye contact, smile, and say 'howdy-doo'. now, people don't even acknowledge each other. i see people cruising through their day, totally blocked off from the world. is this an extension of the social consequences of the internet? what's next? none of us ever have to leave our houses again, plugged into every aspect of the outside world from the isolated safety of our little 3-bedroom ranch deluxe? may just be a coincidence, but the rising degree of hostility out on the streets & town squares is concerning me, too. mundane interactions between strangers can easily escalate to an argument, fistfight, or worse. we don't know how to be with each other anymore, and the population's nearing maximum density...nowhere to get away from each other. except inside our heads. maybe that's it. we should run experiments overcrowding rats, and give some of them little rodent-sized ipods. see which ones eat their tiny friends alive, and which ones just tune out altogether. there's gotta be a better way. |
| i've mentioned alternate universes before...the idea that, whatever moment you happen to be in, the outcome leading to the next moment could involve innumerable possibilities. some ordinary, like this one, some terrifying, or epiphanous (is that a word?)...but that feeling of being outside, looking in on your own life--if even for a moment--gives you a sense of detachment. like you're watching a movie of your life reel by. lately, though, i've been dwelling on the future moment, when i might look back on the current moment as a turning point, or a noticeable moment in which i thought a particular thought, or felt a particular feeling...and then someting pivotal happens immediately after. so that, for the rest of my life, i'll look back on that moment as the blissfully unaware moment before IT happened. regardless of what kind of IT it turned out to be. of course, pivotal moments just don't come around that often, so i end up 'remembering' moments that were in an ordinary sequence of other moments, and 'remembering' them as they happen. i'm watching my life as if it's already happened. by dwelling on the infinite possibilites, i'm reducing my life to a series of stultifying and meaningless outcomes through sheer passive observation. i am so freaking out right now. i also really wanted to use the word 'stultifying' in a sentence. great word.  |
*gasp!*  it's me, again! all right, all right, don't lose yer knickers. (well, go ahead, if that'll make you more comfortable, but don't loosen up on account of me.) yes, i'm posting another entry within a week of the last one. (i think i just heard the seventh seal crack. jurgen, keep yer distance, man!! ) sooo, what's this one about. do you think there's any significance to my dream involving my brother performing an appendectomy on me without anesthesia? i wasn't on cold medication, and hadn't eaten spicy foods/pizza before bedtime, so go figure. it was fairly harrowing, but according to him, it had to be done. also, i don't know if i've mentioned the neighborhood paint monkey who's been attacking the side of my house this month. three times, so far. he's (she's?) been spraypainting lovely messages like "fuck me daddy" and "i fuck my neice(sic)" and "i like little girl's pussies"...that sorta thing. big as day, all along the side of my house, on a major street. nice. nothing like pedophilic obscenities to start your day with a smile! we've reported the incidents, but really, other than staking out that side of the house in an invisible tent for the next couple of weeks, how're we gonna catch this little punk? P's been running scenarios past me, inquiring about the possible legal ramifications of beating the crap outta this kid if we catch him, breaking knees, legs, etc...i've been trying to discourage him. but with not too much effort. this neo-criminal might think it's a joke, but we've been violated. maybe i've still got my panties on, and neither of us is bruised, stabbed or shot (which, granted, would be a far far worse situation), but there's supposed to be a sanctity to one's home. it's our haven away from the world, away from all the crap out there. but apparently, the crap's in here, too. or, at least, smeared all over the outside of the house. sigh. and my auto finance co sucks rotten larvae ass. but, we all knew that before. anyway, that's my world today. hope y'all are having a better time of it. |
| there's something liberating about knowing the stuff you write isn't being read by too many people. while the downside may be a lesser amount of feedback (stroke me, stroke me--oh, yeah, that's the spot.), the upside is not fretting over what people will think. people who you've come to respect, and admire. the classic perfectionist's dilemma. should i have friends, who i'll be compelled to impress, entertain, and be the perfect friend for? or, should i let those relationships slack off, mostly from attrition, and gain the freedom of not having to live up to anyone's expectations, and the inevitable disappointment we all feel, when i don't? hm. i'm almost 40, and i'm still too interested in what other people think. what they think in general, but especially what they think of me. i'm better than i used to be. in high school, i did my best to avoid eating in front of other people entirely, sometimes ending up in a public restroom stall, scarfing down my sandwich while hunched on the toidy. now, i can tune out people i don't know. i can scratch myself in public, even, and not feel ashamed. not that i shouldn't, i suppose. public crotch scratching is nothing to be proud of. but, you get my point. once i get to know you,though, and even more rarely, once you get to know me, you're really in. i'm all soft and vulnerable. is there anything worse than being a perfectionist cancerian? anyway. this is all leading up to my list (heh) of new year's resolutions. and i'm trying to be realistic, here. 1. lose 20 pounds. (and no, i don't yet have a plan.) 2. get back to my primary emphasis with this writing stuff. actually write some stories, goddammit. 3. try harder to be relaxed and groovy with others, and myself. um...that should be enough, i think. of course, y'all aren't listening to the hundred more i've got biffing around inside my skull. i'm trying to convince myself those don't really count, because i didn't write them down. they're arguing, putting up a pretty good fight, but i'm winning, so far. i'll see where i'm at in february. |
| i know i've only been posting once every week (or two...) for awhile, and i feel guilty about that. honest, i do. i suppose i'm either tired, or empty-headed, or distracted by (video games)...i'll try harder. not because i should, but because it'd be good for me. like not eating french fries. that'd be good for me, too. sigh. so, big horrible news. OJ, my old boy, died thursday. we had to put him to sleep. he'd been on the downhill side of things for a while, but this week, he just seemed to give up. stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped going to the bathroom. everything. so hard. what was harder was P having to go through this. OJ was his baby. he was 13 years old, and P'd known him since he was a wee pup. OJ had spent his entire life by P's side, and watching them together in their last moments...well, that was heartbreaking. some things to know about OJ. big, brawly husky/greyhound mix. white, with black blotches & ears. biggest brown eyes, and softest ears on the planet. when his big black triangle ears perked up, they looked like he was signalling with semaphores: 'give OJ snacktreats' or 'proceed to gate 29'. one of those... i met him when he was about 7 (people years, not dog), and as dignified as he was (would NEVER deign to chase a ball. dear god, no.), if he got a dog biscuit (or three), he'd boot them around the tile floor like Pele, all stiff-legged & hoppity. ears all perked up. snorting. god, that was funny. he hadn't been able to do that for a couple of years, at least. it's the silly little things that hit the hardest. and they hit when you're not ready. i keep calling time out, but it hasn't helped so far. i'm still waiting to see him shuffle in from the yard, or hear him slurping toilet water. i think it's not real yet. time still feels like it's standing still, but i'm watching everyone around me go on with their lives. discouraging, that the world doesn't stop for one soul. well, it should, for OJ, if only for a minute. rest in peace, my sweet boy. |
| i have cute toes. little piggies. i do tend to chew on them probably too much, but darnit, i just can't resist. they're tasty, too. which brings me to the movie 'audition'. hm. saw it several months ago, but because of other, more recent yet unrelated examples of unpleasant moments d'arte, it keeps popping up. when i was a young thing, i LOVED excess. excessive wardrobe, excessive vocabulary (blue & straight, both), excessive histrionics (and boy, that's really takin' things a bit far)....anything guaranteed to shock i considered a plus. one of the bands i listened to: scraping foetus. case closed. so, 'audition'. if you haven't seen this movie, i'll summarize. lonely middle-aged single father--career man--embarks on a semi-ethical search to find his next wife. he chooses a seemingly meek, eager-to-please cutie (in a screamingly 'lookit how moist and open are my emotional scars' kinda way), and then gets savagely....well, i'll just say the last 20 minutes of the film require sphinctoral fortitude, if you value the upholstery. yeeow. i do like that sing-songy tune she trilled as she worked. that was sweet. this movie wasn't especially well-made. novel, and extreme, for sure. even taking into account movies like 'ichi the killer', this movie had moments to top what else i've seen. skeevy torture-wise. the first 70 minutes, tho, were pretty ordinary. knowing generally what to expect at the end, i spent my time usefully, eating popcorn & picking lint from between my toes. (don't worry, hygiene police. i use one hand for eating, and the other for picking. makes me an excellent date, don'tcha think?) so, when the last chapter hits, i'm sitting there, mouth open, yelping with sympathy in sync with the girl's rhythmic see-sawing action, but i'm not traumatized. i hate needles and all, but no. not feeling too terrible. but was i moved? do i feel enriched on any level for having experienced this particular movie? comparing 'audition' to, say, 'santa sangre' is maybe a good example of what i'm getting at. shocking to make a specific point, or to illustrate a character's passion (or insanity) is necessary sometimes. just to get us to live inside their head. to understand them, and feel a little of what they do. portray a reality that may or may not be...real. sure, i'm all for that. but this girl in 'audition' was cold. gleeful, maybe, but utterly empty, other than a peculiar sense of humor. no one home. what was the point of this movie? what should i be feeling, or thinking from this experience? i'm not knocking another person's paradise. this movie may be someone's absolute freakin' favorite. i'd have a few questions for them (feel free to email!), but i can't judge, really. yer talkin' to a girl who saw 'valley girl' so many times i'd memorized every character's lines. (go ahead. quiz me. 'that stuff, it tastes like chlorox!') but i'm getting to the point where i actually expect to understand the underlying point of a movie. i don't have to like it even, although i'm getting more willing to walk out than i used to be. but if i feel the director has a specific story, a message, or just a strong style & sense of humor or pathos, i'll hang in there to see what they have to say. but, time is short, and getting shorter. if yer gonna spend that much time & energy to make something that thousands of people will spend time, energy & money taking in, wouldn't you want it to mean something? and if you don't, what...what're you doing it for?? maybe it's moolah, or glamour. i dunno. but i sat there, watching that scene, watching the happy girl with the piano wire making that "REE! REE!" sound....and i was confused. grossed out, titillated, horrified, laughing, and doing a lot of pointing & squealing, too. but underneath, mostly confused. maybe a little entertained. but not much, i tell you what. |
| i've been noticing, lately, how difficult telling the truth really is. by the truth, i mean the TRUTH. not just words that technically are accurate, but truth in meaning. truth in intention. observable, objective, defensible. i stutter under the weight of responsibility. even knowing the truth is impossible--think about the number of perspectives involved, how the universe is nothing but our individual perceptions, how we process our stories steeped in bias, denial and delusion. does truth exist? how do we know? and does knowing mean more than feeling? are we better for having 'truth'? maybe discarding the whole idea would make for a less judgemental, more open avenue to civil discourse, to sharing of ideas without some arbitrary absolute looming over us. to maybe getting one step closer to that elusive universal connection we're so desperate as a species to achieve. if we decided what our world meant for ourselves, would that be so awful? if we decided the world was made up of degrees of gray, rather than black or white, would we start seeing between the lines? woop. time for the next pill. |
| hi. i can't sleep. i've been up for lessee...25 hours so far, and no sleeping in sight. not a crisis, i know. does make thinking more difficult for someone who kinda struggles with that stuff anyway. but i have been seeing and pondering some interesting hypnogogic phenomena. my mom (who isn't dead, but certainly is estranged, as well as in another state) appeared to me last night. except, she wasn't my mom. i knew she wasn't, no matter how much she looked and smelt right. she wears 'white shoulders'. and i knew she was evil. i know what you're saying right now. "well, obviously, this loon fell asleep & had a nasty dream. jeez." mebbe. mebbe not. all i can affirm is my memory of this 'visit' feels authentic. my mom has a history of cryptic comments, and behavior. when i was a wee tot (about 5?), my mom woke me up one pre-dawn morning to get me to drive her to 'the safe place' that she knew i knew about, and that she couldn't do it because she couldn't see. i tried, but i think we ended up at the corner 7-11. those aren't especially safe, really. to say nothing of my driving. my point is, my mom has a particular style of crazy. as crazy as she is, tho, she's never been malicious. the mom i saw & spoke to last night wanted to destroy me. i knew she was a monster, underneath the eccentricity, and that if i turned my back on her (or let on i knew), i was dust. i think she was checking up on me. and that scared the living crap outta me. something else that scares the crap outta me is latka from 'taxi', but that's for another time. hey, maybe i can get a decent story idea out of this. |
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