Save(d) As Draft(s)

With only one eye opened, I stumbled to the bathroom. It's common knowledge that you're not officially awake until you've opened up both eyes. And if it wasn't common knowledge before it is now because I just told you.
- 10/01/2006

I patted the turkey, soothingly, and began to reassure it as I inserted my right hand into its rectum. "This is a first for both of us." I told it. I'd insisted on buying a turkey that provided me with a neat little package full of internal organs, but immediately, upon pulling the package out, I realized that I had made a big mistake.
- 10/03/2006

The best way to prepare a meal is to start by igniting the wrong burner on your stove top so that you set a plastic bag on fire in the process.
- 10/05/2006

I can't remember the last time that I was truly happy. I can't remember the last time I felt anything but indifference. If I could, I would stay in my bed all day long, just laying there. My bed is warm, it is comfortable, and in my bed I don't have to wonder why it is that I've forgotten what happy feels like.
I am not disappointed with my life. I am not disappointed with myself. I don't feel depressed. I just don't feel happy. Is that normal? Is that a regular way to feel? I tell people I'm happy. I laugh, I smile, I pretend that everything is exactly the way I want it to be. I keep hoping that one day I will wake-up and it will be. But it already is. Things are progressing just as I'd always planned them to, just as I'd always hoped for them to. So why do I feel so dispassionate? Why do I feel so apathetic?
- 10/14/2006

The song in my head keeps skipping. Three words repeating over and over again. Endlessly. Not even significant words. Not even for any reason, except maybe that they are repeated a few times in the song. I never get through the whole song on my own. I can never make it past those three words. It's a shame too, it really is. My favorite part of the song comes right after those words.
- 10/16/2006

"What is that noise? Are you peeing?" Her disembodied voice asks over the phone. Busted, I think to myself as I try to come up with something to say that will make the moment slightly less awkward.
All I can come up with is 'Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches.' So I say that.
"I don't understand you. You won't eat while talking on the phone because it embarrasses you, and yet you have no problem going to the bathroom."
"I know, that is weird." I agree.
- 10/20/2006

My bed smells like beer, which isn't all that surprising considering I spilled almost an entire bottle of beer on it. For some reason, distracted by my enthusiasm to create a scary Halloween tape made up almost entirely of the dog groaning, I decided that the bed was a great place to leave my beer while I went to do something else. It wasn't though.
- 10/21/2006


At least for now

We are spooned up in his bed, his arm wrapped around my waist, when he says it. "It's time, isn't it?"
I don't pretend to misunderstand what he means. It is time. It is past time. I open my mouth to respond in the affirmative, but, to my horror, all that comes out is a sob. It is past time, but that does not make it any easier. I was not in love with him, but that doesn't mean my heart will break any less. Despite my best efforts, I find myself overwhelmed by grief.
"Shhhhhh." He coos to me, turning me around in his arms and rubbing my back. "It is okay." But it is not okay. I am not okay.
I was waiting for him to let me go, trying to pretend that when he did everything would still be fine.
I don't want to lose him, but I can't keep him out of fear that this is my only chance. He deserves so much more than that.
"I didn't expect this reaction from you." He whispers. "Is it bad that it makes me feel better?" I shake my head. Of all the times I have hurt him with my indifference and have been unable to give him the words he needed, I am glad that I could do this small thing for him. I am glad that, even if it is through my pain, he is finally able to see what he means to me.
"You know what I will miss most?" He asks me.
"If you say my dog I am going to castrate you." I try to smile through my tears, but the corners of my mouth seem to be weighted down. My body has staged a protest, leaving me unbearably vulnerable in the process.
Some people can cry and still look attractive, but not me. My face gets splotchy, my eyes get puffy and red, and my nose runs like a faucet. I am the picture of anything but beauty, but he is looking at me like I am all he's ever wanted and it is too much. I close my eyes and try to take deep breaths. I feel sick. Oh god, I feel sick. I hate myself for getting this upset when it is exactly what I wanted. I hate myself for losing control like this in front of him. I hate myself for not being able to love him the way I should have.
He is wiping my tears away with the pads of his thumbs, and he is so unbelievably gentle that I think I might break. When I finally open my eyes, I see that he is crying too. We are crying together. Though I don't remember exactly when I'd moved them, my arms are wrapped around him tightly. I don't ever want to let go. I want to melt right into him. When we get out of this bed, when I leave this house, everything will be different. I can't stand the idea of losing him.
"When we promise to stay friends, don't let that be a lie," I plead. "I can't lose you." And he nods his head, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows.
We lay there forever, until reality can be held off no longer.
'This is the last goodbye.' I think, as we embrace in his doorway. When I've gathered enough strength, I pull away and start walking to my car. 'Don't look back,' I tell myself.


Very serious problem

I am at my parents house this week and I have already run out of clean underwear. Where did all the underwear I packed go? I counted each pair I put in, there were ten. And yet, six days into my visit there is no more underwear. This poses a big problem for me because I like to pass my time alone each day, when everyone else is at work or school, dancing in my underwear around the house. How can I dance around in my underwear if there is no more underwear to dance around in?


Reflections on fisting poultry

As I stuck my gloved hand into the body cavity of the ten pound turkey, I thought to myself 'How did I get here?'


Sleeping arrangements

The President is lounging across my legs as I type this. I should probably also mention that I am laying down across my bed. While, these days, we seem to be able to share a bed without too many problems, this wasn't always the case. For the first month after I moved into my house, without fail, every night I would awaken to a thump. For the longest time I could not figure out what the source of the thump was. I would look around my room, see nothing out of the ordinary, and fall back to sleep. After a while, it became apparent that I was to blame for the noise. More specifically, the thump was caused when I would move my legs, in my sleep, and knock the President off the bed and onto the floor. It made me laugh, but I also felt a little bad for the poor cat. I would imagine that getting knocked off a bed while you're sleeping is a pretty big piss off. Sometimes I am not even sleeping and I just accidentally fall out of bed (because I am borderline retarded) and that pisses me off. Especially when it happens more than once in the span of half of an hour.
To cut a pointless story slightly shorter, I have yet to determine whether I have become a less active sleeper, or if the President has just learned to beware of my flailing legs (and boy do those legs love to flail). I suspect that it is the former and not the latter. I base this suspicion on the fact that the President, without fail, falls asleep every night laying across my legs.

In other news, Stephen Harper (my pleco, not the Prime Minister of Canada) has died. I feel bad because it took me three days to notice. I just thought he was sleeping... Until I noticed that his eyes had turned white and there was slime forming around his body. That means I only have one fish left, Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note.