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listen  jim guthrie read  the little prince laugh  ryan belleville
random © design and text by near-sighted 2001-2002 |
I hate calling people on their cell phones. It's a mix between loathing the idea of me being responsible for the person yapping loudly on a weird contraption in public, and loathing the idea of actually getting them live and having to talk to them. The sigh of relief I experience when I get someone's voicemail is tantamount to getting a throbbing gigantoid goiter surgically peeled from one's neck. VoiceMail, I embrace thee. Having said that, there are some people I really want to talk to. laughlines, hello? Miss you lots, buddy and thanks for the message. * * * The neighbours up above were going at it at 11:31pm. This could have aroused me were it not for the fact that the rhythm was a bit too fast (with a overall tinge of annoying) and that the man sounded like he was running to the washroom almost a beat after the bed creaking ceased. How utterly romantic. I could just picture the recipient laying down on the bed shaking his or her head in boredom and fatigue, watching him scamper away with his penis slouched downward, shrivelled to the size of a mini-cornichon. Sex can be much better than this. * * * I want to go back here:
* * * It is 4:16am. I woke up thinking of work and that gives me a fright that no demon could conjure. I also woke up worrying about the interior design of my apartment and how I am much too ashamed to bring anyone to see this place because it is so ratty tatty and ugly. If anyone knows a little thing or two about general design or reupholstering without going broke, let me know. I also need to buy some sort of divider thing that will at least make my one huge room seem like a one bedroom at least. It's so unappealing. I did buy a world map, however. And for the last few days, that little purchase has rocked the socks off of both me and Corinne. I need to buy frames to hang a few things up. And a hammer. And nails to hang them up. And just a better sense for nice things that are cheap. * * * Any mention of a past boyfriend makes me cringe. It's been a while now, but it still frustrates me to hear his name. I wish there were a scientific calculation to indicate when, where and how one will actually begin to get over petty issues and move on with freaking life. But if we all did, would any of continue to have journals to vent? Didn't think so. * * * It's nice to have a friend to fart in front of.
And I feel fine....... - 2004-02-23 |
