"someone's at the door"

can't sleep - clowns will eat me.


initiating brain dump in three, two, one...

i have more than one song stuck in my head at the same time. the score from the Vice movie is fighting with numerous dance hits. right now it's Filthy Gorgeous vs. Strict Machine. i think the Scissor Sisters will win, 'cause hey, they have scissors and Goldfrapp just has disco. maybe i'll squash them both and listen to the blues.

the scene in the Vice movie where they salsa dance is the single-most sexy thing i have ever seen. period. and i've seen some sexy shit.

i want to watch more American Gothic. but there isn't anymore. it was canceled over ten years ago. fuckers. i'm not sure what pisses me off more: that the show got the axe, or that they dismissed my favorite character halfway through. right now i'm leaning toward the later. at least he got locked in a looney bin. most people would consider that a bad thing, but i consider it ten shades of awesome. it was fitting. i know i for one would probably end up in a rubber room if i accidentally killed my family and the devil was my arch-nemesis. i think i'm going to convert good ol' Doc Crower for game. i need a new character and he speaks to me (which says quite a bit, probably none of it good).

i've been angry lately. really angry. which seems like an improvement over depression or anxiety. still, i'm a bit concerned that i'll break someones face when i rejoin society on Tuesday. all it will take is someone saying something about how grand the weather is. or how fantastic the president's new Iraq plan is. or how rich, happy, in love, whatever they are. or anything really. "hi. i just looove American Idol, don't you?" pow! crunch! "sorry about your nose, pal." maybe i should just wear dark glasses and a hat so no one speaks to me. might be for the best. not that it will save me from stupid meet and greet name game BS. fucking liberal arts profs. and i want to join their ranks? bwahaha. i can't decide if that's funny or sad. doesn't that make it a parody? somehow i've become a satire.

i wonder who would play me if my life became a movie. Jake Weber comes to mind, but only because i've got AG on the brain. he's not right. not by a long shot. oddly enough, quite a few actors spring to mind, but not a single actresses. typical.

i really need to cut my hair. it's pissing me off. the question is, how long? or rather, how short? my father said i looked like a giraffe when i wore my hair short. gee. thanks. this is me not caring and taking scissors to my head anyway.

15 credits in one day, ten hours, forty-seven minutes. i'd say more, but i'd rather not give it any more attention today. god knows it will have plenty over the next few months.

it's cold. the pipes in my bathroom are frozen. i miss showering downstairs. at night. in a room with working heat. christ. negative fifteen degrees and five feet of snow. i wasn't kidding when i mentioned an ice age. we'll see how funny everyone thinks it is in ten years. haha. no, you can't borrow my parka. shouldn't have laughed at me when i was talking about global warming trends, ass. that'll learn 'em. see - told you i was angry.

the prince of disk's book is really amateur. untrained, shaky, and executed with the finesse of a sitcom writer trying their hand at greek tragedy. but buried in there, he has something. i mean, he really may have something. which is pretty damn cool for a first attempt. now it's just a matter of whether or not he has the patience and ability to chop and polish until it's more diamond than coal. it's worlds better than the queen of sword's first nano attempt. let's just hope he can take constructive criticism for once. i held up my end of the bargain - now it's his turn. if only i had time to work on my books. meh. i'll make time. eventually. i know what my priorities are, even if i am a procrastinating, self-critical fuck right now. it'll pass. all i need is a good pair of sunglasses and a smoke. not sure why, but i'm dead certain both would help the process more than is rational.

i got approved for my financial aid. 6k of federal casheesh. yay. it made my day. i was grinnin' like a monkey. then i looked at how long i'll be paying off my loans and the shine came right off. to regain a slice of joy i'm buying a goddamn digital camera. i've wanted one for a long long time and there's no time like the present. besides, why borrow money if you aren't going to enjoy it at least a little? debt is supposed to be fun, right? right? err...yeah. so watch as i blow cash on shit i don't need. whoosh. click.

i lost my ring shoveling snow. the next day my finger turned red where the band used to be, as if in angry protest. it's still red. it looks like a burn. i can't explain it, nor can my parents. all i can think is that my skin is expressing my displeasure for me, since i seem to be incapable of mourning another loss right now. somehow i think i would miss the ring less if my eye wasn't drawn to the redness, or if my thumb didn't keep looking for the missing silver. my body keeps reminding my mind. my heart has yet to get the memo.

*sings Choke by Hybrid* i miss dancing. i miss driving. i miss driving fast around the reservoir singing at the top of my lungs. sixty miles an hour, tires straining on the blacktop. praying, praying a deer doesn't come smashing through my windshield, filling my open mouth with glass. yeah. i miss that. the slippery crawl of icebound roads isn't quite exhilarating in the same way. not by a long shot.

the tealights are winking out. one by one. i'm down to one, nestled deep within the belly of a faceless copper bird. that distinct tang of smoke keeps filling the air as they run out of fuel and die of sputtering hunger. fire. heat. smoke. light. i wish i had thrown more logs in the woodstove before coming up here. it's cold. baby, it's cold outside. and so am i.