[sad days]
much as I hate to sing all the old clichés:
who heard the alarm only distantly this morning, and slept past his ideal waking time? who over-brewed the tea this morning, turning it into bitter bitter badness that even his ever-loving and -longsuffering wife couldn't choke down? who has a case of the mondays? the answers is me.
it continues. every paper cut I can remember receiving has arrived on a monday. it is a scientifically verifiable fact that, per unit of area of skin affected, a paper cut is the stupidest type of injury allowable by the laws of physics. it must be a monday. I never could get the hang of mondays.
perhaps on the bright side I have figured out what I want for my birthday.
0. 3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine. no not really.
1. booba? kiki? yes yes really, but hard to find for sale. (a friend of mine experiences this. when she closes her eyes, my voice is blue, and round.) the machinations of the mind are an utter enigma.
2. some bloody answers. yes yes really but not likely on the scale I'm hoping for. do they even exist? it is an open question.
days go by and in the end no one knows where all the when went. yesterday's rain is this morning's fog; perhaps that has something to do with it.
or perhaps it's just a sodding monday.
who heard the alarm only distantly this morning, and slept past his ideal waking time? who over-brewed the tea this morning, turning it into bitter bitter badness that even his ever-loving and -longsuffering wife couldn't choke down? who has a case of the mondays? the answers is me.
it continues. every paper cut I can remember receiving has arrived on a monday. it is a scientifically verifiable fact that, per unit of area of skin affected, a paper cut is the stupidest type of injury allowable by the laws of physics. it must be a monday. I never could get the hang of mondays.
perhaps on the bright side I have figured out what I want for my birthday.
0. 3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine. no not really.
1. booba? kiki? yes yes really, but hard to find for sale. (a friend of mine experiences this. when she closes her eyes, my voice is blue, and round.) the machinations of the mind are an utter enigma.
2. some bloody answers. yes yes really but not likely on the scale I'm hoping for. do they even exist? it is an open question.
days go by and in the end no one knows where all the when went. yesterday's rain is this morning's fog; perhaps that has something to do with it.
or perhaps it's just a sodding monday.
3 very splendid and worthwhile comment(s):
Last night I was reading antimatt. I remembered some good stuff there. Perfect for Mondays:
my new favorite phrase of disgusted dismissal. more meaningful than 'kiss my ass,' more shocking than 'go to hell.' it is:
'go to my ass.'
ah yes. how sad my mother's face looked the first time I shouted that at her.
(ha ha, I didn't actually shout that at my mother. that would be mean! I said it in a very soft pleasant tone)
your reply actually brings up something I've been thinking a lot about recently. should I import all my old old hatelife posts into the new and hopefully-improved journal, once I finally get it up and running and pretty? or should I let the past lie?
it's a dilemma that only other people can answer for me. right.
I'm sure from our point of view it would be nice to always be able to go back and read the old stuff. But as what I'm doing - my old old stuff, I'm letting it be.
And that reminds me that I want to ask you questions about how to edit my mongolians page. I keep making changes but it never works right and I find myself back at square one. There's a lot I want to do but a few easy things include: attaching a personalized icon to the address bar. I also want to widden the text body area but I think I'm going to have to pick a different template for that. But, everything I touch (edit) looks like crap!
do not post a comment (or not).
do not go home (the grass is always greener).