Santa, family, friends, me, or anyone listening can give this grateful creature:
-a new spine
-care from others; sincerity
-unexpensive gifts that come from dreams
-companionship and ability to express myself intimately
-insight into unfinished business of mine
-family turmoil resolution
-lump of coal (for my hookah), peppermint flavored
-an eased spirit
-ability to cook food that tastes good
-competency and uncommon sense
And for New Years, I hope to not hear of a single “Resolution.” I will not be having any. They are poor excuses for weak-willed individuals. N.Y.R.’s are asking to be broken. I’d rather just commit to doing what I want without going overboard. For some, it will be holding off on getting laid so often. Others will lay off the chocolate. Not me. I just won’t have my favorite dark chocolate as much as I have been the past week. It is my crutch that I don’t need. Methinks I’m rambling. Go ahead with New Years Resolutions, just don’t make them in order to break them. Set achievable goals and pick yourself up if you fall. The steps of a baby is the pace of a slow but determined winner. Today my goal is to eat dinner instead of eating chocolate candy bars.
I’d like to fulfill someone else’s wishes if it can be done with an empty bank account. I can’t make my secret getaway right now as a broke gal, so I’ll settle for staring at pictures of it online.
There are times when I sink to the bottom, times I am torn to pieces, more broken than shards of glass. Infuriating disgust and rage overcoming, the sudden urges must be held back. Let time heal my emotive fallacies. Allow it. I am not so petty, so thin. I won’t let me back in there. I mentally bash my mind–attack the source.
But of course my aggravation only calms me down. Because life is a lyric.
a living gave without contradiction
things nonfiction blurr
hearts are nails
only one today
the Exist blurr
worlds are of words
Ridden with pain,
Discomfort seeps in.
The new is very old.
The strong is now weak.
I have the aching back blues.
I just want it to go away.
I can’t get rid of it.
I just want it to stop.
I have the aching back blues.
Lately I’ve been moaning inside my head. I have a back injury. Everyone I know seems to have back problems. A third of everyone at work has back issues and we are all secretaries who do no lifting and we get breaks. My dad has metal in his back and he complains in the cold. In the meantime, I’ll do some yoga and strengthen my trunk. And eat less junk food.
There was a guy I knew who had this scarring done to him. His name was Greig, or at least that’s what I knew him as. He was some bum who’d pass by my work in the morning.
Sugar Free or Sugar Slave? Well I’m not a hyperactive gal so I must be fairly free. Every day this semester, college seems like it’s taking me nowhere except to some place that seems like nowhere. Regardless of classes I’m taking, teachers I’m learning from, and homework I’m doing, I feel like an obese learner. I’m a university couch potato. I actually do my work and study. Hit the books… with my face. But seriously- I am learning very little hearing an hour lecture every weekday on garbology. I need a student loan to loan me a four-year vacation. Don’t you love it when your Food Science and Nutrition instructor expands on global warming threats. And she doesn’t even relate it back to how it slow roasts food! Mmm, warm carrots. Simmering salmon. Wind-roasted apples. NO!?! None of it. There’s only a surcharge of $600 to sit through the class and escape with an acceptable lowfat grade. Watch your carbs and ask Weight Watchers to watch you wait.
So to all dying for some turkey, make your own recipe. It’s not that hard to make a turkey, unless you plan of giving birth to one. And yess. I had a fine Thanksgiving. Turkey Day was almost as good. Just ask Hulk Hogan if he’s heard of Atkins. It is documented that diets do work, but will power loses to keep it off. It becomes progressively harder to lose more weight because your body fights to maintain its set point. Think of it as an equilibrium where your chemistry tells you what is best. For some it’s 350 lbs. Others: 600 kilos. What if we just gave hypothyroid medication to overweight people? Too many people suffer from Dietbetes. Dieting is not such a great idea in itself. Exercise and have smaller meals instead of 2 or 3 big ones. Dieting causes obesity to stay a problem. And it’s not anyone’s fault. Diets are made to be broken. (Cue the Goo Goo Dolls’ “Iris” song). Moderation is a better word and tactic. Digressing into compromise–Everyone is on a diet. I’m on the “eat what you feel like and prefer the healthier stuff” diet. My portions and number of meals vary. That’s OK. I’m skinny, but not concerned about how many pounds I own. I’m more concerned about my breasts, my heart, my brain. Ward off heart disease. Coronary arteries would not enjoy a disease.
Not many people know, but my mom is a convicted felon charged with voluntary manslaughter against “Pop.” My father (he sure ain’t a dad) was verbally abusive toward my mother for years. He would get hammered from a refrigerator of Miller brews. Not a night would go by without me waking up hearing him yell about nothing. I got as comfortable as I could get going to elementary school the next day. It was one evening that my father pushed her in a rage. It was not a violent or painful shove, but enough to demand a response. She cracked. She hospitalized my father that night. That night I became a temporary orphan. My mom would be at the local jail that night, and my father recovering from burns on his face from a hot pan and a broken jaw. The episode lasted no longer than a minute, but I remember it clearer than anything I’ve witnessed and it stays with me. It has affected my life forever.
I hear that most women are in jail due to problems with a relationship that led to crime like being abused and fighting back. This is what happened in my family. I live with my dad, unhappily… He shares some of the blame and I can tell he feels ashamed. Instead of a remedy, he has sunk further to drinking. Since the divorce, my dad has come out of the closet and I’ve seen the strangest guys in and out of my house for the past year. I am ready to leave but don’t have enough to live out on my own. I’m a little dysfunctional myself and wouldn’t want to burden my friends who are struggling themselves.
A normal serving of Caffeinated Soap will dish out 200 mg of caffeine directly into your body. No eating of the soap is required. Just cleanse yourself with this and feel rejuvinated. Shock Soap is the new cocaine.
In the name of productivity do people turn into products.
This is a picture of raw caffeine in white crystalline powder. Looks a bit like cocaine, but it’s much more legal and widespread. Even narcs use it.
The title of the post is the exact statement of a friend of mine. Once a virgin, twice a herpes magnet. I’m pretty (and very) conservative. I am a late bloomer, never doing anything dirty in high school.
Paraphrasing what my anonymous friend says:
Being sexually active involves willingly subjecting myself to genital herpes. I had no idea whether they were disease-free unless I had hard evidence. I had to trust that they were tested or inactive. I didn’t have anything to worry about myself. I’d say it ain’t worth it though. Sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, even with a whip. It’s fun for the 10 minutes it lasts. All my girlfriends faking almost all their orgasms proves my point.
Some people just enjoy diseases. Look at all the people ready and raring to plop man flesh in their mouth, or to slip into a hole full of s*#t. It’s very possible that these adventurous souls want to experience first-hand what it’s like. They are like scientists donating their bodies to science before their demise. I gotta give them credit. That’s a sacrifice to breakout in rash or any other atrocity for the good of all mankind… so determined.
The Flaming Lips never would have thought that I could link that song with venereal disease. Boo YAH!111!!! (ONES added for internet emphasis)
This has got to be the most insignificant but worthwhile event that has happened lately. I saw some kind of insect. I think some sort of beetle. It had fallen-and-it-couldn’t-get-up. It was stuck on it’s back and was scratching at the air to turn itself over. I thought about what intentions it had. Either genetics was programming it to survive or it thought about getting out of his situation. I intervened with an oversized wrench that was sitting 4 feet above the bugger. I picked up the wrench and proceeded to perform a live dissection. It was an easy cut that seemed to divide his top and bottom half perfectly. I looked at the split in two insect. There was a pause and I saw the head and the 2 legs still squirming in a heavier commotion. I felt bad. I needed to complete my needless injuries. Before passing the final blow, I examined the portion that was lifeless, although I imagined a couple twitch of the posterior legs. Round 2 and the wrench overcame. Within those moments chemicals exploded inside my body and my head was in a haze of abstract mystery. It’s not that I felt guilty. Inside was a palpitating heartbeat and a rush of adrenaline. It could be described as a panic attack in a existential sense. Being and subjecting myself and my actions on the beetle. The murder that took place was no different than the tale Albert Camus created in The Stranger.
What was left out of that story was a vivid emotional array by the Killer of the Arab. My interactive and personal intensities to the situation exceeded the rationality of the events.
For further reading of related microscopic importance (namely the death of bugs), read The Death of the Moth by Virginia Woolf. It is on the caring side but I share the same observations and relate to this story.
A moth recently visit my room after the previous events. I decided to let it fly. It remains in my room and I closed the door. Even after I had reopened the door, it stayed. It was more lively the the other victim I had erased from motion. It had a quasi-frantic random flying pattern about it. It would take breaks and find unusual spots to take five. It overwhelmed my attention and its eye grabbing flutters did not annoy me but gave me reason to feel entertained. I lost sight of it leter on and now I can only hope that it’s not dining on a sweater or whatever moth diets consist of…
Psychics are so psychotic that they forget the “ot” in Psych-ot-ic. They actually get paid to have a psychological condition. Makes me happy that complexicated people can get respect for being dysfunctional. Reminds me of
Damnit! There goes my memory. AReGHuh!*&@^#$%@#$
It reminded me of ? all of the sudden then decided it didn’t want to recall it in time for me to jot it down after taking a little break. Stupid short term memory. Let me give it a minute [minute goes by] and it never came. Maybe in a week I’ll finish this post but it’ll go live anyhow.
The nephilim (the offspring of demons and human girls) have taken over searchers who are searching for some site called coolkids.com, but there is no such site with any information of use. Unfortunately, there are some small sacrifices that need to be made to find what you need. There are no more girls on myspace, no more cooloutkids, no more mysteries to solve. There might be a video that has exceeded bandwidth and a domain that will expire though.
Cool down and turn off your TV show. The show hasn’t started yet about those wicked angels. Everything can be found if you use the search button right here. Let us end the conspiracy and get back to business and fun.