i spread mulch and was sad.
i made pretty things and sat looking at them, bawling inside.
from the outside you'd maybe think i was spacing out while composing a grocery list.
but what do i know of from the outside. sheer speculation. tree falls in a forest. in space no one can hear you Clash.
tonight the new browser nonfunctionality: not even being able to sign in to facebook, drown myself in mafia wars. 'd be nice to think that's a divine gift, but that's an even dumber kind of speculation. and rob brzsnzsnzny says the most idiotic stuff. a girl who wanted to believe couldn't, and a girl who can't bring herself to not not want to is at a loss. at a loss.
doesn't matter how much of it is me perpetuating it. it still and also has a life of its own.
the freeze-dried skin tag on my neck came off with a peel. doc said the old wives strangled 'em with thread. it worked, cuz it cut off the tiny but effective supply of steady blood.