uh

I am tired. I am true of heart!

My shoulders are throbbing, but vaccinated. 

Big Oil execs are bipolar, desperately in need of medication or prison.

Can I do school forever? Please?

Documentaries are good for the soul, even ones about Iraq that drive me into a frenzy.

The human back, the sloping field where the trapezius swells against the teres and infraspinatus and weaves itself into the long, firm strands of the latissimus dorsi, is the most beautiful part of the human body.

I don't want to die. Being a body is confusing.

What to do?

extinction, pt. 2

I poisoned Joy and myself last night on... well... kind of on accident.

I was making a gourmet flatbread/pizza-type creation. I used a bit of alfredo sauce. It appeared to be a teensy bit curdled as it spread onto the crust with a consistency like semi-dry latex paint. I scraped off the largest offending curds, and spread the more liquidy portions over the dough. Aaaand.... we were sick all night.

extinction

There are like two people from my old xanga days who still use the damn thing.

Should I stay or should I go?

I'm not sure it'll have the same pizzazz it did back when it was a community of sorts. I mean, it's still a community, I guess. Possesses potential, anyway. But I'll have to work to ingratiate myself to a new community, and if I have to do that, I might as well take my blogging elsewhere, right? I feel like a traitor.

Xanga gods, forgive my blaspheming thoughts.

On the other hand, gods, no, you suck. You don't own me. For one thing, you're always reminding me, every time I sign in, how long I've "been with you," as if I owe you some great debt. Are you serious? What kind of grudge-holding bastards are you? I'm not going to pay you to write half-assed thoughts on an obscure web site nobody reads anyway. Get real. And another thing, what the hell does "Xanga" even mean? I don't know, guys. I just don't know.

This is terrible.