'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

kill me now. only don't. only do. only don't.

Morning's gonna come early.

I had the misfortune---I forgot to mention to my companion this evening---of thinking of a line from Desert Dykes today.

I have the additional/attendant misfortune of being unable not to scoff at myself thinking of lines from a canonical dyke movie. Sheesh, already. It's not even one of the better lines. Or one I think of much, ordinarily, insofar as those lines sometimes come to me.

Wanted earlier to throw the (my/this) body into freezing water & get hypothermiacky. Didn't do it. Didn't really want to do it. But wanted something like that. Do you ever want something like that? It wouldn't have to be exactly that. There's the thing about smashing my face into something, or something into my face. Or ---something dramatic. Something physical and dramatic. Something that would occupy all the nerve endings completely, or some of the nerve endings so much it might as well be all of 'em. Not the brick in the head, though. I spoke too soon on that one. Not the brick. It's not all in the noggin, anyway. And, besides, that'd really hurt.

I have a zit on my nose. No, that's good. O says it's good. Or she says it means hormones, anyway.

Yeah, I've been drinking, officer. Pig. Do you know the expression "I smell bacon"? meaning there are cops around?

Ever have someone who was terminally ill suggest that, after she dies, you take up extreme sports and undertake other high-risk activities so that, without exactly commiting suicide, you might nonetheless be reunited sooner?

Do you think there's no way in hell I'll ever actual break out in dangerous inviting of hypothermia or other extreme physical craziness? If so, would you like to dare/goad/shame me into it? Please? I guess I'd prefer dare or goad, but I'm not in a position to be particular. Too bad about the weight limit at the freakin' skydiving thing. Skydiving shouldn't have weight limits. The whole point is that you plummet. And I have wanted to skydive for years now.

I wonder if Suzanne regretted her plunge into Lake McDonald that day years ago, in Glacier, on the last day before the park closed for the winter. I think she did regret it, at least right after she did it. I think she was only glad of it much later, when it was but a story to tell, and no longer the sense of "oh shit" mortality she'd (presumably) been going for. When just the two of us were down there and she couldn't stop shaking & was practically in shock... well. Maybe it was actually great.

Wonder if I'm violating my new horoscope advice.

I got a lot going on & nothing right to channel it into. Hope I get some really engaging dreams tonight, anyway. I shall imagine that that'll happen as I go to sleep. Stevie's therapist told him that you can make yourself remember them, at least, by telling yourself before sleep that you will. I believe he said it worked, but that he found out his dreams were all nightmares, so he wasn't going to be sticking with the program.

Don't think; just throw.

can't find the freakin' "off" switch tonight

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