Isn't it astounding how quickly joy can become an aching emptiness?
Like it was never even there at all.

Hearing: Maria Taylor - One For The Shareholder ... (inside my head, over and over)
Experiencing: A fine Jack & Coke buzz.
Dreading: Wearing the Barney suit called my bridesmaid dress this Wednesday. God do I hate purple.
Looking forward to: Seeing those wacky soon-to-be newlyweds Jenni and Jimmy (despite the required purple-wearing)
Also hearing: "Foxtrot, unicorn, charlie, kilo"... Those wacky kids in the Bloodhound Gang. Ahhh.
Only 5 day 'til: Serenity. Oh yes. Midnight show, I'm there.
Damn, I don't want to: Work tomorrow. Le sigh.
Have to: Go.

One for Tammy.

Atlanta Braves fans have dirty hands.

Ha ha.

The good book.

Random religious rant of the day:

Biblical arguments presuppose a divine origin of the text. Basing an entire logical platform atop a faith-created presupposition makes no sense at all. "This is true because the Bible says this," is just as flimsy as saying, "That is true because I think it's true."

That's an awfully weak line of reasoning on which to base concrete judgements of morality.


"If you take [a copy of] the Christian Bible and put it out in the wind and the rain, soon the paper on which the words are printed will disintegrate and the words will be gone. Our bible IS the wind and the rain." Herbalist Carol McGrath as told to her by a Native-American woman.

Desperation.

It's 2005, and here I find myself, sweeping a kitchen floor that hasn't seen a broom since I last found myself here. It's 2005, and I'm much the same housemaid my 1955 counterpart was.

No. There's a difference - I also have a full time job.

So why are we still playing this "women's work" slave game? Why do I find myself doing 90% of the cleaning in a house of which I own 50%? Despite requests and pleas and rationalizations, weeks will pass with dust collecting on the furniture before I'm forced to pull out the dust rag myself.

Women's magazines offer suggestions on how to get men to help with housework. But why is that even necessary? Why should a person have to be persuaded to take responsibility for their messes instead of forcing the person they've claimed to love into indentured servitude?

It's 2005 on a Saturday after a full 40-hour week, and here comes a weekend full of the housework of my second job. Maybe 1955 wasn't so bad after all.

Bunny Suicides

Exactly.

I wish I didn't.

The arrogance amazes me.
The world is one big fucking high school.

lies.

They found her by the sinking river still warm with the stinging embers of a deserted Sunday afternoon. Hear, she thought, the whispers gather to a roar, lunging and prodding with all the force of 500 hundred teaspoons. She gripped the remains of an intricate plan to relive a life lost, scribbled into the black, to parties long since disinterested.

"I'm still here," she was said to mumble, facing the compass arrow's end, more in disbelief than in anger or despair.

Only, it was clear to everyone that she'd been gone for years.