if you were a pill

I don't know why I can't just relax and take things at face value, but I have to over-analyze absolutely every inaction and obsess about words said or not said. I wonder if it's because I spent umpteen million years in university searching for hidden meanings in texts - subterfuge in the way that words lie on the page one after the other. Why would anyone actually say what they are thinking when there are so many voices messages thoughts to convey?

"You never ask me to do anything."
"I don't?"
"Nope."
"Well we'll have to fix that won't we?"

Something as simple as that - totally a him thing to just sit back and let the world wash over him, to go with the flow and let things be planned - but it festers in my brain and I don't know how to just let it be. Breathe. Just believe.

le sigh

One of the forgotten drawbacks of being single - there's no one to help you fold the fucking fitted sheet.

I've had family here for basically the last week so just washed a veritable mountain of laundry. That's exactly how I wanted to spend my sunny sundae. Trust me. 

In other words, I have some wicked fucking insmonia. Like even the sleeping pills won't make it go away.  I've been awake since about 3am. I'm feeling pretty good about life right now - believe you me. Though the positive side to this whole thing is that I've lost six pounds. I was being chipper about that to a friend the other day because god knows you can't be chunky when you are back on the dating market. His response to me was that he didn't think I needed to worry about my 'sexpottyness'.

Say it outloud - it's a fun word. Plus it's about the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while so there's that.

exorcise me

So it's Good Friday which is a much bigger deal in Canada than it is in the US. I have no idea why - Puritan heritage? Stubborn refusal to embrace the three (or four) day weekend?

Either way.

Someone on the CBC is talking about exorcisms and the modern Catholic Church. I guess in Italy there are 300-400 alone. In 2005, 500K people came to see an exorcism. I wonder if these people really need exorcisms, or if they just need a hug? I dunno. I'm not sure I believe in the fact that people can be possessed by evil spirits. I mean, I *do* believe that it can happy, but 500K in one year?

I'd like to exorcise myself from the ghosts of my past. It's funny how sometimes they start rattling around in my head like ebenezer's spirits, brandishing their chains and moaning about wrongs inflicted and received. Last night was one of those nights - an inbox full of memories, not all of them good.

(The CBC has switched from exorcism to organic farming. Are they trying to say something about something being full of shit? No comment from this peanut)

Me & Emily

I'm feeling a little Bronte today, and am lying here in my pjs with a glass of juice and a plate full of hummus and pita chips. There will surely be crumbs in the bed, but I'll blame the architect and no one will be the wiser.

Right?

Anyway so I've been flipping through old blog posts and checking out people who used to comment. Most of them have gone away - blogs and all - yet I'm still here. I wonder where they all went? Did they get bored with their current situations and begin new ones? Did they just give up the innerweb, bored with blogging and its plebian sameness? I wonder....

Rollcall:
newly single
dean simon, aka the farmer in the deli
ridley
write hard

There are more....

----------------------------
My gmail status is 'insufficient madness'. Someone who knows me from now not then inquired. What's insufficient, he asked? Seems like the world has enough. I pointed out that it's really just a comment on how I feel as though I can't write worth shit when I'm not batshit insane. Almost worth going off the meds for, no?

tilling my own grave

i've been in bed all day. i spent the night drenched in sweat, waking up every few minutes with a headache that was all encompassing yet oh-so-elusive. did it exist or is it just the next manifestation of my psychosis? am i sick or am i merely incapable of dealing with the outside world destined to become a shut in trapped in a prison of my own design?

i have no answers for you. how can you expect me to know what's going on? i can barely focus my eyes on the screen in front of me for long enough to tap out my cry for help. i find solace only in motion dream of running away running running down the road with the sunroof open leaving my life behind dropping off the map. do you think it is possible? do you want to come with me?

picture it - you and i dancing on a beach with everything we own shoved in a backpack a bottle of cheap red wine propped in the sand by the fire. we'll have to be drunk, of course, have to be drunk in order to deny the pathos of our situation no food no money no friends just the constant sound of the voices in my head chasing us further faster away.

no more subliminal shit

i am completely obsessed with mildly distracted by hitting 'refresh' on the police fanclub website just in case they release the presale passwords early....