approximately 300,000 leeches

This town is draining my very life force, I fucking kid you not. 2 weeks is about all I can handle of being "trapped" at home. I've reached the 2-week "housewife" limit. It's all my wee brain can handle. (Cause I'm a fucking free spirit, you asshole.) Perhaps if I had my own place, not in Topeka, being at home for 2 weeks would feel more like a vacation. But no, as of yesterday, back pain is back with a vengeance. Bills keep coming, parents keep paying, I keep staying, at home. I've applied to more than 25 jobs as of Thursday. Now it's wait and see, wait and see, follow-up calls, wait and see. Monday I should do my effing taxes and follow up on a job lead that was given to me today...by my hairdresser. Donna has been my, primary, and most-beloved, hairdresser since I was 13. I could go to some chi-chi, overpriced salon in L.A. and still, Donna could do the same thing back home for $11. So in a cheap effort to boost morale at Camp Jill, I have a new haircut. And I adore it. I was so bored with the cut and color...and normally, as some of you know, I hate the "flip-out" style. But I love this. It's just messy and controlled enough to suit me. I just hope I can duplicate it after today(hence the picture).

I rented Apocalypse Now for my Dad and I to watch tomorrow. Other than that, I'll probably be online, verbally slitting my wrists and fainting on imaginary chaise lounges. Gather ye smelling salts.* That, or I'll be avoiding all human contact by reading. Maybe, if the snow that is scheduled to arrive shows up, I'll build a fucking snowman and kick him repeatedly in the non-existent balls. That'll teach him...to be a man...made of snow...and such. Man, I don't even have anyone to have a snowball fight with. Stupid "adults" and their "grown up" ways. Feh.

Now I'm going to go write overblown and annoying prose about how perfectly unhappy, oppressed, and lonely I am. *bows* Aaaah-goodnight....


*I am so fucking kidding.

why don't you go play in the street

Driving in moderately heavy snowfall is like playing a game, a fun game which could end in red snow. Ahhhhh, I exaggerate because it's all I know how to do anymore.
I'm a writer. I'm a liar.

The snow won't pack well yet. I cannot make a snowman. I already tried. And it's blowing so much frome (Yes! Like Ethan! I hated that book.) the North, that it's not conducive to melancholy and wallowing wandering. I already tried. Though I did sit in my car for a few minutes after going to get gas-o-leen, just watching the large, white flakes fall with quiet RAGE. Oh the rage those snowflakes have. I could never be a poet. I'd just end up mocking myself or cracking a joke.

I'm not supposed to be feeding the fish (sickly) for 48 hours until he "relives" himself.(Oh for...yes, "relives himself". He's going through his re-birthing. Hippie.) However, I'm finding it very hard to sit here and have him starve. I might break down soon. They need to make fishy laxatives. Tomorrow, I will see what the store has in the way of treating this.

Staci found a roommate. I'm happy for her. I'm now making mental bets on how long this chick will stand with her. Who knows maybe she's very tolerant and LIKES TO LIVE WITH A CLINGY HOMEBODY IN A FILTHY PARADISE. Who knows, maybe I'm the asshole. *shrugs*

I want chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven.

I stayed up, well, my computer stayed up, but I crashed on the bed, until about 4 am last night, just to download this. (It's Johnny Cash, just to let you know. And it took a long fucking time on a dial-up.) Thanks to burningskyz, whom I copied the Donnie Darko soundtrack for and never got to give to her, yet. :(