crazy busy.

day job
craft job
tryna gather myself unto myself for this giftsmas (that’s xmas or christmas to the rest of y’all) foolishness
i wanna redecorate
i need to redecorate
i need to pray more
i’m eating less bullshit
drinking more water
getting less sleep
this is . . . a lot.

& in the middle of all this i wanna return to volunteering, become an activist w/ the emphasis on activity, mentor a grown woman who’s officially tryna enter this place we call the workforce, decide whether it’s the netherlands or mexico city next spring/ summer, try to plan a move for spring, get better at styling my own hair, film a documentary, learn some portugues . . .
& still manage to give myself orgasms on the regular.

there’s a lot to do. & it’s going on 2 in the morning. i gotta get some sleep from somewhere.

braveheart & braverheart.

dave chappelle is, indeed, a genius.

found this on lauren’s blog. yay!

my current feelings/ thoughts on thanksgiving:

i don’t feel like it.

this year, i want a turkey sammich in one hand & some sort of intoxicant in the other, while watching some kind of ridiculous film or television program on dvd (see: get a life, in living color, pootie tang, or napoleon dynamite) with some friends.

i will have that kind of thanksgiving. dammit.

even if my entire family converges on my itty bitty apartment & decides to eat candy off exu’s shrine space . . .
even if my perpetually chilly apartment lets the hawk in . . .
even if my janky ass oven puts an unnecessary coating of crispness on everything i bake inside of it . . .

i will enjoy this day off.

if snitches get stitches, then sew me up.

megan meier didn’t deserve this. i don’t care what happened between two kids — if a parent gets involved, it should be to end the drama. not turn it into some torturefest that ends in suicide.
i applaud the (anonymous) mother who told the truth.

outside of that, i’ve nothing to say, really, except this:

rest in peace, megan.

i won’t ever forget it: the beginning of the end.

the time he likened us working our problems out to the way we’d coach each other at free cell.

i wanted to smack him in the face w/ the keyboard at that exact moment, pack my shit, & walk the fuck out. but all i had to my name were some nickels (probably not enough for the bus) & whatever food i’d bought for the week. i couldn’t go back to my mom’s like that. but i felt it in my gut — i felt someone telling me to leave.

lesson #1: always listen to your first mind, no matter how crazy you might look to everyone else.

i am a towering fount of snot.

i have a cold. fuck. no date for me this weekend. not much more than changing the bed linen, taking lots of baths, & being pissed that i can’t go out & play with the other kids. meh.

i need the time to crochet, though…

something’s come to my attention as of late:

when it comes to dating, i’m the fault-findingest motherfucker ever.

i’m gonna relax that shit & go dig for records with this cat, maybe over this here long weekend. it cannot possibly hurt me to go crate digging with someone. it can’t, unless that person is an axe murderer, suicide bomber, or otherwise out-of-control crazy kind of individual.

it can’t hurt.

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