kanji

27 December, 2003
well i woke up this morning, with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt

Rest Well, JohnnyCash.

i've spent my waking hour in the company of my cyberFriends... those people that i've been comfortable conversing with, without actually conversing with them. comparing notes, good and bad... wondering how all of the prep for the holidays (i hear you golfwidow) goes off like stepping on a land mine. and then you're conscious enough to see the pieces that remain, before you black out. and it's over.

not one of your It'sAWonderfulLife type holidays.

at least most of the drama was limited. no hatched-burying in anyone's back. for that, i'm grateful.

this has started off a little bleak. maybe it's because i'm sitting here, typing away in cold, double-socked feet, working on my second ashtray. shooting angry glances at the SpeckledBeast... who somehow managed to pry the refrigerator door open in the night. a plastic bag of turkey bits, miraculously unmolested, sitting at the center of the kitchen floor, tellingly.

i could have unsheathed the flyswatter of correction, and added a glowing pink complement to her nose of the same colour, on the opposite end... but thought better of it. instead, i shooed her outside and performed damage control. if i don't update anymore, you'll know that i ingested a fatal leftover. i'm thinking the last scenes of MontyPython'sTheMeaningOfLife... when the hooded figure of the GrimReaper stretches out a bony finger and hisses, "it wasss... the jerk chicken!"

she shall remain blameless. there hasn't been anyone here to mess with/obsess on since Thursday morning, except for my short visits to sleep.

oh, yes... there are stories to tell. but, right now i need to uproot myself and go amongst fellow humans, in search of a battery to breathe life into the SwedishFrankenstein.

i also need to give the index finger on my left hand a rest... damaged, when i returned home, last night, whilst slicing a lime for my third Tanqueray&Tonic of the evening. how Christmas-y... the green of the gin bottle, the red of type O. victim of the old bread knife that i'd sharpened into sushi-keenness... and admirable blade it has become. but hungry.

there... at least we're up to date. and relatively unscathed.

the sorry tale continues.

.


hit me with your rhythm stick




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