So instead of saying something grotesque or inappropriate, like I almost always do, I deliver to you a shock of a different kind:
Cheap, easy, fool-proof, disgusting sweet goodness. Think I am kidding? Make the bake.
Have a good weekend.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Recipe
The work week is over and I have to not a lot to say for myself except, wow. This apartment is inexcusably dirty and wow. I have to straighten all this out before I head out for the weekend.
So instead of saying something grotesque or inappropriate, like I almost always do, I deliver to you a shock of a different kind:
Cheap, easy, fool-proof, disgusting sweet goodness. Think I am kidding? Make the bake.
Have a good weekend.
So instead of saying something grotesque or inappropriate, like I almost always do, I deliver to you a shock of a different kind:
Cheap, easy, fool-proof, disgusting sweet goodness. Think I am kidding? Make the bake.
Have a good weekend.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Don't ask why
Last night on the elevator, I was standing next to a man. Looks, age and weight class unimportant. We were ignoring each other as people are supposed to do on elevators, so you can imagine my (un)surprise when, as the elevator stopped at floor eleven, he turned to me as said:
I need a bigger boat.
And then he walked off the elevator as if that was the same thing as saying have a nice evening and I will doubtless never see him again so ask what he meant when he told me about his boat problem. Perhaps it was just a metaphor?
This morning on my way to the 7 train, a woman in a long blue dress and a veil stopped me and said:
Thank you for sweatin' it with my workin' spirit.
Oh. Okay.
And finally this afternoon, I was talking with a student. I was trying to explain to him that in place of the word "female" it would be best to use the word "woman" - especially when referring to adult humans of the XX chromosomal arrangement. Below, our conversation.
Why?
Because the word woman includes both the notion that female creatures of our species are, in fact, one of us. Human.
I don't get it.
When you say "female" instead of "woman" you might be referring to any number of breeding zoo animals. Women are people.
Miss, have you seen some of the bitches on MTV?
I am Nina's complete lack of surprise.
See you tomorrow.
I need a bigger boat.
And then he walked off the elevator as if that was the same thing as saying have a nice evening and I will doubtless never see him again so ask what he meant when he told me about his boat problem. Perhaps it was just a metaphor?
This morning on my way to the 7 train, a woman in a long blue dress and a veil stopped me and said:
Thank you for sweatin' it with my workin' spirit.
Oh. Okay.
And finally this afternoon, I was talking with a student. I was trying to explain to him that in place of the word "female" it would be best to use the word "woman" - especially when referring to adult humans of the XX chromosomal arrangement. Below, our conversation.
Why?
Because the word woman includes both the notion that female creatures of our species are, in fact, one of us. Human.
I don't get it.
When you say "female" instead of "woman" you might be referring to any number of breeding zoo animals. Women are people.
Miss, have you seen some of the bitches on MTV?
I am Nina's complete lack of surprise.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
It's really dirty in here
No, no, not that kind of dirty.
I am referring to the fact that I can't really find time to do normal things, like housework, blog posting, working out - hell, even showering has to be squeezed in between emails and seemingly endless stacks of papers that are screaming to be graded.
Damn it all.
Why do I do this to myself?
Oh. Right. So I can pay bills and travel.
I have nearly reached the point where I call out sick so I can right my ship. Oh wait! I did that last week! And my ship was righted for about half a day before the whole nother big wave of crazy capsized me again.
So anyway when I woke up at dawn, I took this picture for you:
In the area of good news not yet reported:
1) my knee is no longer mysteriously sprained
2) I slept a reasonable number of hours, three nights in a row (yes, that's a big deal)
And yes there is a mega-post in the works about a box (or two) of goodness I received in the mail last week from my favorite blogger. Yes, I do have a favorite. Deal with it. (Ok, I love everyone but this week I love one particular blogger, extra).
Love,
Nina
I am referring to the fact that I can't really find time to do normal things, like housework, blog posting, working out - hell, even showering has to be squeezed in between emails and seemingly endless stacks of papers that are screaming to be graded.
Damn it all.
Why do I do this to myself?
Oh. Right. So I can pay bills and travel.
I have nearly reached the point where I call out sick so I can right my ship. Oh wait! I did that last week! And my ship was righted for about half a day before the whole nother big wave of crazy capsized me again.
So anyway when I woke up at dawn, I took this picture for you:
In the area of good news not yet reported:
1) my knee is no longer mysteriously sprained
2) I slept a reasonable number of hours, three nights in a row (yes, that's a big deal)
And yes there is a mega-post in the works about a box (or two) of goodness I received in the mail last week from my favorite blogger. Yes, I do have a favorite. Deal with it. (Ok, I love everyone but this week I love one particular blogger, extra).
Love,
Nina
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Oh really?
Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating
I bet I could make it twice that long. The quiz doesn't take into consideration that I do very well all by myself - am in fact 95% introverted and domestic and have a job I can do from home. Or that there is door to door grocery delivery, online billpay and what the heck, there is a grocery store in my building. And yes, the whole building is home.
I could, if I chose to, never leave this building again. Literally.
How weird is that?
Oh and yes I am recently armed and I'll blog about it soon. I just can't seem to get more than ten consecutive minutes.
(Probably) never seeing anyone ever again,
Nina
Monday, March 31, 2008
Unsurprising news
I stopped by House of Zathras yesterday and found this fun website with lots of clickable things, including this one:
Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating
Maybe I should swear less. I mean, it's not like I don't know better, and it's not as if it would be terribly painful to swear in less (or is that fewer? Is "post" a count or a non-count noun? Could this be a more post-modern problem?) than 28% of my posts. Right?
More later. Papers to grade. Grammar to battle. Etc.
Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating
Maybe I should swear less. I mean, it's not like I don't know better, and it's not as if it would be terribly painful to swear in less (or is that fewer? Is "post" a count or a non-count noun? Could this be a more post-modern problem?) than 28% of my posts. Right?
More later. Papers to grade. Grammar to battle. Etc.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sin of the week, 3/30/08
Well, anyway.
To be all official about it, the worst thing I did this week, probably, was call out sick when I wasn't sick. I was overpowered with having too much work to do of other kinds. So I did it. The calling out. I didn't even feel guilty about it. I still don't.
Other notable bad behavior:
1) swearing
2) drinking
3) eating too many jelly beans
4) upsetting my friends by not returning their phone calls and emails
5) having hateful thoughts about my headologist
6) drinking an entire 24 ounce can of beer at 2 o'clock on Friday afternoon
7) firing an unlicensed firearm (and indoors, too)
You betcha I'll be telling you more about that tomorrow.
Happy Sunday.
To be all official about it, the worst thing I did this week, probably, was call out sick when I wasn't sick. I was overpowered with having too much work to do of other kinds. So I did it. The calling out. I didn't even feel guilty about it. I still don't.
Other notable bad behavior:
1) swearing
2) drinking
3) eating too many jelly beans
4) upsetting my friends by not returning their phone calls and emails
5) having hateful thoughts about my headologist
6) drinking an entire 24 ounce can of beer at 2 o'clock on Friday afternoon
7) firing an unlicensed firearm (and indoors, too)
You betcha I'll be telling you more about that tomorrow.
Happy Sunday.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Me too
Of course I have done it. And if you have never done it, there might be something a little bit wrong with you. There IS such a thing as TOO GROSS to merit future proximity to your person - not matter how greatly the grossness quotient could be reduced with hot, soapy water.
(Welcome to my post about throwing away your dishes so you don't have to wash them. And you thought I was talking about my boyfriends. Shame on you! Oh and I will be writing about this topic, inexcusable as it is, in an inexcusably verbose manner. Thank you for stopping by).
Several months ago, we (meaning cat-head and I) went through a difficult period where we could barely breathe without snarfing up a whole nose-hole full of fruit flies. It was a heartbreaking time for us. You can read it about it here.
What we discovered, after we (I) had disposed of all their hairy, wiggling, multi-fanged bodies, is that fruit flies are tenacious of life. They hang on, even without food, water, reliable internet access, and affection or encouragement. They wait for you to change your mind about them. Sort of like has very often happened to me when I get a boyfriend and then I try to unget him. (I tend to date people who don't like to be broken up with. Stop changing the subject every other minute).
So anyway I deloused my tiny cubicle of an apartment and then I discovered the source of the issue: a tea saucer I had left in the sink with the merest tiniest smear of something on it. Yes, I know I should not have left my apartment for three days and neglected to wash the tea saucer. I know I am gross. I know. (Stop acting all like you can't believe anyone would ever even want to date me in the first place and STOP TALKING about how you'd be dying to get broken up with if you mistakenly (mistake! error!) started dating me. Cut that racket out, already).
So I decided, as any sane person would, to wash the tea saucer that had provided (apparently) an attractive breeding opportunity for what probably started out as two lonely fruit flies - until they had all kinds of filthy, dirty, perverted sex under my tea saucer, had baby flies and then proceed to have sex with them, too. One would hope, since they were having sex with their own children, that it was at least a little less filthy dirty and perverted. But you know what? You would obviously hope for that because you are a nice person, but you would also be (obviously) be wrong. Everyone knows that fruit flies are dirty, nasty, whores - lacking, obviously, my very fine and deeply felt moral tastes - you know - the ones that prevent me from dating men who suggest that we should get naked on the first dates. Or even the second. Because as girlfriends go, I am totally lame. (Note: it is usually this sort of creature that is so difficult to get rid of - you know, after he has discovered that he thinks I am lame because I don't think it's such a great idea to engage in certain reproductive behavior with him even though I am not certain I can remember his last name and I am unsure if he even is who he says he is - or is even single. Notable illustrations of this type: Grip Spitzer). But that's not the point and I wish you would stop interrupting me to talk about my lack of a love life. I get that you think I am gross and unlovable, already. Just stop talking about it for half a second. Please.
Anyway, I was waiting for the water to get hot and seeing as I had some time on my hands, I amused myself by using my very active, fine tuned imagination to call up images of fruit fly porn.
(I'll give you a minute to do the same. Go ahead. Do it. Don't make me post photographs of breeding insects. Because I think you know I will totally do it if you don't comply).
And then, of course, obviously, I realized that really, the only sane thing to do was get that tea saucer, smudged or no, out of my cubicle as fast as I could carry it down to the garbage chute and listen to it clang its way down to the basement to be removed by the custodian, placed in a plastic container, bagged, loaded onto a truck, driven, and delivered unto a landfill, probably in New Jersey, where right now it is STILL disgusting because it was at least once the scene of a horrific three day fruit fly orgy.
You know what? Fine. If you insist on continuing to harass me about how I don't have a boyfriend, fine. We can talk about it. Or at any rate we could if you would stop making all that noise and listen to me for a change.
Certain recent events and also something that is at this very minute not in the trash, (even though other people might pretend to think it's gross) has convinced me - even at the cost of my sanity (was I ever all that sane? I mean, take a look at this post - wow) that no matter how much I like to think I am done, I am, in fact, probably not done. And yes, it's because I suddenly remember, as a direct result of one completely not disgusting object,* what is nice about having a boyfriend.
I can't even decide if this is good news. But if you think for one second of one second that I would carry it down to the garbage chute and listen to it clang its way down to the basement to be removed by the custodian, placed in a plastic container, bagged, loaded onto a truck, driven, and delivered unto a landfill, probably in New Jersey - horror! I will not do it, so you can quit acting like it is news to you that I am gross in this particular way. You knew perfectly well what you were doing and I might - get this - just not talk to you until you admit that you knew.
Thank you for reading.
*Don't worry about it if you are not the one person on the planet who knows what it is. I can't tell you. Because if I did then you would KNOW and also you might not get it (although I very much suspect you would) and then we might not feel the same way about each other. Why risk that?
(Welcome to my post about throwing away your dishes so you don't have to wash them. And you thought I was talking about my boyfriends. Shame on you! Oh and I will be writing about this topic, inexcusable as it is, in an inexcusably verbose manner. Thank you for stopping by).
Several months ago, we (meaning cat-head and I) went through a difficult period where we could barely breathe without snarfing up a whole nose-hole full of fruit flies. It was a heartbreaking time for us. You can read it about it here.
What we discovered, after we (I) had disposed of all their hairy, wiggling, multi-fanged bodies, is that fruit flies are tenacious of life. They hang on, even without food, water, reliable internet access, and affection or encouragement. They wait for you to change your mind about them. Sort of like has very often happened to me when I get a boyfriend and then I try to unget him. (I tend to date people who don't like to be broken up with. Stop changing the subject every other minute).
So anyway I deloused my tiny cubicle of an apartment and then I discovered the source of the issue: a tea saucer I had left in the sink with the merest tiniest smear of something on it. Yes, I know I should not have left my apartment for three days and neglected to wash the tea saucer. I know I am gross. I know. (Stop acting all like you can't believe anyone would ever even want to date me in the first place and STOP TALKING about how you'd be dying to get broken up with if you mistakenly (mistake! error!) started dating me. Cut that racket out, already).
So I decided, as any sane person would, to wash the tea saucer that had provided (apparently) an attractive breeding opportunity for what probably started out as two lonely fruit flies - until they had all kinds of filthy, dirty, perverted sex under my tea saucer, had baby flies and then proceed to have sex with them, too. One would hope, since they were having sex with their own children, that it was at least a little less filthy dirty and perverted. But you know what? You would obviously hope for that because you are a nice person, but you would also be (obviously) be wrong. Everyone knows that fruit flies are dirty, nasty, whores - lacking, obviously, my very fine and deeply felt moral tastes - you know - the ones that prevent me from dating men who suggest that we should get naked on the first dates. Or even the second. Because as girlfriends go, I am totally lame. (Note: it is usually this sort of creature that is so difficult to get rid of - you know, after he has discovered that he thinks I am lame because I don't think it's such a great idea to engage in certain reproductive behavior with him even though I am not certain I can remember his last name and I am unsure if he even is who he says he is - or is even single. Notable illustrations of this type: Grip Spitzer). But that's not the point and I wish you would stop interrupting me to talk about my lack of a love life. I get that you think I am gross and unlovable, already. Just stop talking about it for half a second. Please.
Anyway, I was waiting for the water to get hot and seeing as I had some time on my hands, I amused myself by using my very active, fine tuned imagination to call up images of fruit fly porn.
(I'll give you a minute to do the same. Go ahead. Do it. Don't make me post photographs of breeding insects. Because I think you know I will totally do it if you don't comply).
And then, of course, obviously, I realized that really, the only sane thing to do was get that tea saucer, smudged or no, out of my cubicle as fast as I could carry it down to the garbage chute and listen to it clang its way down to the basement to be removed by the custodian, placed in a plastic container, bagged, loaded onto a truck, driven, and delivered unto a landfill, probably in New Jersey, where right now it is STILL disgusting because it was at least once the scene of a horrific three day fruit fly orgy.
You know what? Fine. If you insist on continuing to harass me about how I don't have a boyfriend, fine. We can talk about it. Or at any rate we could if you would stop making all that noise and listen to me for a change.
Certain recent events and also something that is at this very minute not in the trash, (even though other people might pretend to think it's gross) has convinced me - even at the cost of my sanity (was I ever all that sane? I mean, take a look at this post - wow) that no matter how much I like to think I am done, I am, in fact, probably not done. And yes, it's because I suddenly remember, as a direct result of one completely not disgusting object,* what is nice about having a boyfriend.
I can't even decide if this is good news. But if you think for one second of one second that I would carry it down to the garbage chute and listen to it clang its way down to the basement to be removed by the custodian, placed in a plastic container, bagged, loaded onto a truck, driven, and delivered unto a landfill, probably in New Jersey - horror! I will not do it, so you can quit acting like it is news to you that I am gross in this particular way. You knew perfectly well what you were doing and I might - get this - just not talk to you until you admit that you knew.
Thank you for reading.
*Don't worry about it if you are not the one person on the planet who knows what it is. I can't tell you. Because if I did then you would KNOW and also you might not get it (although I very much suspect you would) and then we might not feel the same way about each other. Why risk that?
Friday, March 28, 2008
Questions answered
Dear Nina,
1) How long will it be until you start writing real posts again? Lately it's all pictures and quizzes. What the F?
I am so overwhelmed by my various responsibilities that I consider every day that I don't get fired, get evicted, or get dead - an accomplishment. Wait, that doesn't answer the question. Seriously? May. As in when the semester is over.
2) When will you start responding to comments again?
All comments are loved, cherished, petted and given cookies, handmade socks, and beer. In my mind. Did I mention I am so busy I can barely find five minutes to give those gangsters over at Blog 365 their due? Seriously. If I don't post every day, they show up right in my computer (ok not really) and doing terrible things to me with their knowingness. Wait. Did I answer the question? The answer is "soon." (I honestly don't know. Thank you for your patience).
3) All your wanking self-pity is getting old. Get excited about something again. Go climbing. Get a life, ok?
OK. I will. Oh and for the record, I am happy today. Oh and I'll be blogging about why on Monday.
1) How long will it be until you start writing real posts again? Lately it's all pictures and quizzes. What the F?
I am so overwhelmed by my various responsibilities that I consider every day that I don't get fired, get evicted, or get dead - an accomplishment. Wait, that doesn't answer the question. Seriously? May. As in when the semester is over.
2) When will you start responding to comments again?
All comments are loved, cherished, petted and given cookies, handmade socks, and beer. In my mind. Did I mention I am so busy I can barely find five minutes to give those gangsters over at Blog 365 their due? Seriously. If I don't post every day, they show up right in my computer (ok not really) and doing terrible things to me with their knowingness. Wait. Did I answer the question? The answer is "soon." (I honestly don't know. Thank you for your patience).
3) All your wanking self-pity is getting old. Get excited about something again. Go climbing. Get a life, ok?
OK. I will. Oh and for the record, I am happy today. Oh and I'll be blogging about why on Monday.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Fattitude and apathy
toothpastefordinner.com
I am too full of jelly beans and fapathy to write too much today, so will this cover it?
Love,
Nina
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Bullets and bus drivers
No, no. Not THOSE kind of bullets.
I mean the kind you make when you are drowning in impudent commas and belligerent semi-colons and mis-appropriated dashes - and - dare I say it? subject-verb disagreements. The kind you make when the last little wisp of joy will escape from your soul if you see one more dangling modifier.
* I took a taxi this morning. It was because of Jesus. (No, I am never going to provide an explanation for that).
* Upon exiting the taxi, I lost my balance just a little, and my four dollars change slipped from my fingers and blew away into the street. That was because of Jesus, too. (Yes, someone needed that $4 more than I do).
* I took the bus home after having the last little wisp of... never mind.
* On the bus was a homeless woman, the kind with a sick, desperate smell of unwashed alcoholism emanating from her person.
* Three teenaged boys on the bus made fun of her. She could hear them and she was blinking back tears.
* To the first teenager, I said, "Watch your language, there are ladies present," indicating the half-dead homeless woman.
* To the second and third, I said, "I am ashamed of you."
* Gosh, they were bad-ass. All staring at the floor acting like nothing happened.
* On my way off the bus, I turned to say thank you, as I always do, and the driver said, smiling, "You go on, pretty white girl. You go on."
* Jelly beans are on sale.
s a painless as this. I really didn't mind it half so much as I make it sound.
Thank you for reading.
I mean the kind you make when you are drowning in impudent commas and belligerent semi-colons and mis-appropriated dashes - and - dare I say it? subject-verb disagreements. The kind you make when the last little wisp of joy will escape from your soul if you see one more dangling modifier.
* I took a taxi this morning. It was because of Jesus. (No, I am never going to provide an explanation for that).
* Upon exiting the taxi, I lost my balance just a little, and my four dollars change slipped from my fingers and blew away into the street. That was because of Jesus, too. (Yes, someone needed that $4 more than I do).
* I took the bus home after having the last little wisp of... never mind.
* On the bus was a homeless woman, the kind with a sick, desperate smell of unwashed alcoholism emanating from her person.
* Three teenaged boys on the bus made fun of her. She could hear them and she was blinking back tears.
* To the first teenager, I said, "Watch your language, there are ladies present," indicating the half-dead homeless woman.
* To the second and third, I said, "I am ashamed of you."
* Gosh, they were bad-ass. All staring at the floor acting like nothing happened.
* On my way off the bus, I turned to say thank you, as I always do, and the driver said, smiling, "You go on, pretty white girl. You go on."
* Jelly beans are on sale.
s a painless as this. I really didn't mind it half so much as I make it sound.
Thank you for reading.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Green fields of Unicorns
This post has nothing to do with green fields. Or unicorns.
It has to do with a memory I had this morning while a twenty year old student was, just for me, explaining the procedure for getting high using a nail and a can of whipped cream. What a nice kid.
So while he was telling me of this and many other common household items that can be used to psycho-pharmacological advantage, I remembered, suddenly, that way back when I was a sorority girl, we had a, um, sorority rush ritual we used for weeding out people who were not funny enough to be our official branded college BFFs.
What we did, on the third night of rush, was lead our prospective members into a candle lit room. There, we would solemnly chant the code of values our national headquarters held so dear. At the moment of highest possible solemnity, we held up cans of hairspray that we conveniently placed on the table, flicked a bic lighter, and produced a plume of pure flame in front of the dear faces of our possible future official branded college BFFs.
Any potential member who failed to laugh was cut. You simply couldn't be one of us if you didn't get why that was funny.
Yes, it was a violation of fire code.
Yes, we were reprimanded by "national" for doing it.
Yes, we continued to do it anyway.
I used to think that sorority / fraternity membership was bullshit. Truthfullly, I still do. But I can't ignore that fact that sixteen years after graduation, the only people I keep in touch with from college are sorority sisters. Chand, Newsy, and Tree, and Zard. Just yesterday, Chand told me I could move in with her if I needed to get out of the city and not deal for a while. I wouldn't even ask that of my own sisters, and she offered without me asking.
Despite the fact that sororities are elitist and stupid and despite the fact that I am now Jack's medulla oblongata, I really do have some good friends.
(Give me a break. It's Tuesday).
It has to do with a memory I had this morning while a twenty year old student was, just for me, explaining the procedure for getting high using a nail and a can of whipped cream. What a nice kid.
So while he was telling me of this and many other common household items that can be used to psycho-pharmacological advantage, I remembered, suddenly, that way back when I was a sorority girl, we had a, um, sorority rush ritual we used for weeding out people who were not funny enough to be our official branded college BFFs.
What we did, on the third night of rush, was lead our prospective members into a candle lit room. There, we would solemnly chant the code of values our national headquarters held so dear. At the moment of highest possible solemnity, we held up cans of hairspray that we conveniently placed on the table, flicked a bic lighter, and produced a plume of pure flame in front of the dear faces of our possible future official branded college BFFs.
Any potential member who failed to laugh was cut. You simply couldn't be one of us if you didn't get why that was funny.
Yes, it was a violation of fire code.
Yes, we were reprimanded by "national" for doing it.
Yes, we continued to do it anyway.
I used to think that sorority / fraternity membership was bullshit. Truthfullly, I still do. But I can't ignore that fact that sixteen years after graduation, the only people I keep in touch with from college are sorority sisters. Chand, Newsy, and Tree, and Zard. Just yesterday, Chand told me I could move in with her if I needed to get out of the city and not deal for a while. I wouldn't even ask that of my own sisters, and she offered without me asking.
Despite the fact that sororities are elitist and stupid and despite the fact that I am now Jack's medulla oblongata, I really do have some good friends.
(Give me a break. It's Tuesday).
Monday, March 24, 2008
The point was... what?
Why did I post a bunch of quotations from Fight Club?
I did it because I realized at around four in the morning that my life had become a lot like the movie, except where the part where I get to smash people in the face.
Let's review the similarities:
1) I haven't been able to sleep for about six months.
2) I have been forgetting things. A lot of them.
3) My employers are "concerned" about me.
4) I have developed an imaginary friend who lives in the computer (hint: her name is Nina).
5) Nina, despite real me's grief and terror, is trying to hit bottom.
6) Nina, despite real me's grief and terror, does not believe anymore. In anything.
7) Nina, despite real me's terrible fear of basically everything, is branching out, colonizing, taking risks.
8) Slowly, surely, Nina is making real me's decisions.
9) It is not yet known to real me whether Nina's sway over me is damaging to real me.
10) Nor is it clear to real me that Nina isn't just me. With a different name and more courage.
Neither of us will be building an army or blowing things up. But Nina very much wants to get out of the city. Nina very much thinks it is time we moved to Canada or Utah or Mazatlan or Cuzco.
Nina wants out, wants to start over.
Scared of me yet?
Well, don't worry. Tomorrow, I'll talk about rainbows and unicorns and fields of green.
Promise.
I did it because I realized at around four in the morning that my life had become a lot like the movie, except where the part where I get to smash people in the face.
Let's review the similarities:
1) I haven't been able to sleep for about six months.
2) I have been forgetting things. A lot of them.
3) My employers are "concerned" about me.
4) I have developed an imaginary friend who lives in the computer (hint: her name is Nina).
5) Nina, despite real me's grief and terror, is trying to hit bottom.
6) Nina, despite real me's grief and terror, does not believe anymore. In anything.
7) Nina, despite real me's terrible fear of basically everything, is branching out, colonizing, taking risks.
8) Slowly, surely, Nina is making real me's decisions.
9) It is not yet known to real me whether Nina's sway over me is damaging to real me.
10) Nor is it clear to real me that Nina isn't just me. With a different name and more courage.
Neither of us will be building an army or blowing things up. But Nina very much wants to get out of the city. Nina very much thinks it is time we moved to Canada or Utah or Mazatlan or Cuzco.
Nina wants out, wants to start over.
Scared of me yet?
Well, don't worry. Tomorrow, I'll talk about rainbows and unicorns and fields of green.
Promise.
I think his name
"With insomnia, you are never really asleep and never really awake. Everything goes thin and papery. Everything is copy of a copy of a copy."
"No, no, I want bowel cancer!"
"Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die any minute. The tragedy, she said, is that she didn't."
"On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone goes to zero."
"Have you ever heard a death rattle before? Do you it will live up to its name? Or will it'll be just a death hair-ball... Air to evacuate soul... 10, 9, 8...5, 4, 3..."
"You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. In all probability, he hates you. It's not the worst thing that can happen."
"It is not until we have lost everything that we are free to do anything."
"This is your life your life, and it's ending one minute at a time... if you wake up in a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?"
What was his name again?
"No, no, I want bowel cancer!"
"Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die any minute. The tragedy, she said, is that she didn't."
"On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone goes to zero."
"Have you ever heard a death rattle before? Do you it will live up to its name? Or will it'll be just a death hair-ball... Air to evacuate soul... 10, 9, 8...5, 4, 3..."
"You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. In all probability, he hates you. It's not the worst thing that can happen."
"It is not until we have lost everything that we are free to do anything."
"This is your life your life, and it's ending one minute at a time... if you wake up in a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?"
What was his name again?
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Easter, Blog365 style
I think if I tried for rest of my life to top last week's sin of the week, I would fail. I don't think it gets better than metaphorically and otherwise disrespecting pretty much everything about God. Therefore, this week, no sin reporting. If you wish to report one of yours (as some of you do), go for it. If not, just look at these mildly funny pictures, have a jelly bean, and watch some basketball. Happy Easter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)