Well, that's like Hypnotizing Chickens

This is on repeat right now.

Bobbing my head at my cubicle, trying to get work done so I can go to bellydancing tonight. Needs to happen. So this will be an slow process of getting this posted.

I know, I know. I really do need sleep. At least if I was on heroin, I'd have an excuse for looking this tired.




That's me! Only minus the, you know, track marks and actual heroin addiction. Small distinction. That's how I feel, though.

I'm looking around my desk and it matches the utter chaos that is my room right now. Not enough hours in the day, I tell you. Not enough.

I was chatting with Lee (coworker and resident bad-ass) and she is forcing me to take a hiatus from the Boys of Doom. I, for once actually, completely agree. If I had a single drink around any of them, I'd wind up setting one of them on fire. And knowing my bad aim when I'm drunk, I'd set one of them on fire that didn't deserve to be set on fire.

And then no one wins.

And it's time I asked for what I was due.

Joking with Robert, he says to me:

"Oh, you're such a jovial whore."

"Well, if I am, it's time I collected back payment."

And yet, guess who's playing now on my playlist?

Oh well. You'll never guess. Let's just say it's slightly ironic as I write those words.

I'm still reading Love in the Time of Cholera. Some of the passages about longing and love and desperation hit me so close to home, it's actually taking me ten times longer to finish this book than any other. And I've read Anna Karenina. I had to put the book down for two days after reading this:

"Little by little, listening to her sleep, he pieced together the navigation chart of her dreams and sailed among the countless islands of her secret life. In this way he learned that she did not want to marry him, but did feel joined to his life because of her immense gratitude to him for having corrupted her. She often said to him:

'I adore you because you made me a whore.'"

Ouch. And yet, it's liberating and sad all at the same time. I have to put it down and then process it, and then I come back. That, and I've been so tired, sometimes by the end of the day, I try to read and my eyes cross and I must look like a very silly human being again.

AND THE WORST PART IS I NEVER LEARNED TO READ

Is that true?

Yes. Well, everything except for the reading part.

I think I'm just going to read porn books from now on. I'd like to see how that'd influence my writing style. Like, suddenly, I can't write about anything without mentioning something "moist" or "turgid." Oh, who are we kidding? If it's a real porn book, I'll be helpless not to refer to "snatch" or "cock." Cock, by the by, being one of the words that I can never say in any sort of serious context. If a guy ever asked me to call it that, he'd better be willing to accept that I'm going to do it, giggling all the way.

This has been a pretty jumbled A.D.D. entry. I apologize. It's all the leftovers in my brain. If you heat them at 350 degrees for 15 minutes, they should be pretty edible.

This is on now. The best thing those boys ever gave me was when I took their music and kept it as my own.

I guess some of the best gifts are the ones you take.