I'm going to cheat on this meme and not post the questions that got me here, but shut up and play anyway, okay?

1. Leave me a casual comment of no particular significance, like a lyric to your current favorite song, your favorite kind of sandwich, or maybe your favorite game. Any remark, meaningless or not.

2. I will respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better.

3. Update your LJ with the answers to the questions.


I gave Michele the smiley-face hat for her birthday, and she loved it. :D

The cake turned out okay. I brought a can of cherries, not cherry pie mix like for making cherry squares, but dark sweet cherries... and Michele rinsed them. x.x? So we just layered those between two cakes and frosted it all. It was yummy, but my stomach was turned by the shot of 151 that George goaded me into taking. I don't think I've ever been that unpleasantly drunk on just one shot before, but man, it made me nauseous and woozy pretty instantly.

And then I got to hear all about Kelly's boy problems before I came home. -_- I don't get paid enough to be her shrink. Hell, I don't think a professional would get paid enough.

Anyway. Cold, tired, ill, sleep now.

I feel pretty much like warmed-over ass right now.

This is the day I make myself walk, though. I can feel the darkness settling into the places the little white pills should have been, and being alone just makes it worse, so: strapping on my big-girl shoes and taking a hike to the pharmacy. Possibly with a stop at the candy shop.

I thought I mentioned this already, but a quick scan over my recent posts didn't show it, so: insomniac_tales is running a writing game, possibly based on mappalujo, at bedfellows. So if you're interested, peek at it.


Now, before I get dressed and go, I was tagged by dearjohnnycash for a meme, so:
a. list seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself
b. tag seven people to do the same
c. do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it"

1. I make a big deal about little things, while ignoring big things. For example: I'm very fussy about rinsing my plates when I put them in the sink, and I get freakishly nauseated by the catbox, but I can forget to eat for days and can go for a long time without making any actual real-time human contact without really noticing until my hands start shaking or until my phone rings and it's actually a person and not a bill collector.

2. My memory is crappy-- I can never remember what I've put on memes like this before, so I try to avoid what I think of as "the usuals"-- I wasn't supposed to have been born, I write funny, I stabbed myself in the eye as a kid, etc-- but then I end up putting stupid things, which is why I don't like doing this meme.

3. I'm more beholden to 'tags' than I am to personal duty, sometimes. I would rather do arbitrary things that 'need to be done' than anything I should be doing, almost always. This would make me a very good shut-in housewife, I think.

4. I have a very hard time shutting myself up, which leads to a hard time sleeping, a hard time admitting when I'm wrong, a hard time figuring out how to make amends, and a constant litany of why, after I've fucked up, no one would want to have contact with me again. Common sense has nothing on the neurotic inner monologue.

5. There is a very clear pattern in my history, early on because of the other person and more recently because of me, where sexual experience leads to a cutting off of communication. I don't know if it's because of shame embedded from those first times, or simply because I'm a fuckup, but if you like me, don't have sex with me. I'm a headcase.

6. I can't self-injure. I'm too scared to hurt myself. But I'm clumsy enough to bruise and scrape often enough, and once I have a cut I will not let up until it scars. For my low-impact geek life, I have a lot of scars I shouldn't, just because won't let things heal up for weeks or even months. My right elbow had a cut for three months straight; the scar is already gone, and that's kind of disappointing.

7. I will be 23 in six months. I have never expected to live past the age of 30. This gives me seven years and six months to do everything I've always wanted to do before I think I'm going to die, even though I probably have more than that. The problem is that I can't even figure out what I want to do in the next week, so filling up the other 387 weeks is kind of daunting. I just... don't have goals, which is not a good thing, I guess. I set myself little tasks just so I can say "hey, I did that" to keep my mind off the fact that I don't care about doing things-- I don't really want to see the world, get married, have kids, work a 9-to-5, buy a house and a car... Part of me thinks that if I'd never lost my religion, I would have a point to my life right now. Part of me doesn't care.

Part of me thinks it's time to go get my fucking medication...

Tagging: storylandqueen, omgimnaked, captainemo411, traceace, kimberlyfdr, and victoriansquid.

I'm holding out for the end of winter. It takes so long for the green to come back to the trees, but it's worth the wait.

I lied, I'm not going anywhere. Except maybe to the couch.

Heath Ledger is dead.

WHAT.

;_;

....and that's the entirety of my flist right now. Wow.

But seriously... he was such a good actor, and his daughter is so little! and... :( Come on, universe, you fucked it up again. Wrong one to take.

I was going to say something self-depreciating, but it's not worth it. *ba-dum-tish*

FHM did a Top 10 Sci-Fi Hotties list that I can actually agree with. With video clips, even. Word.

1 in 5 soldiers returning from Iraq have brain injuries. But it's not gong to matter that a significant portion of this generation's veterans are so fucked up, because the nation's economy is going to nosedive and we'll be plunged into anarchy in a couple of months anyway.

Does anyone on my flist in Canada want to adopt me? I cook, I clean, I can even give half-decent backrubs.

Bald eagles. Pictures from Iowa. Nice birdie...

Kristin and I might go see Cloverfield tonight. She won tickets from WIRY, so if we can find a ride, we'll go. Except she's still coughing up a lung, so we might not, after all. I might be able to beg a ride to Kinney's from Marilyn though, that would be nice just to get my meds and maybe bread or something...

We may have to watch A Knight's Tale and 10 Things I Hate About You. A little uplifting-Heath-movie tribute. Save the sad movies for some other day.

Point of consideration for the night: we hate most in others what we hate in ourselves.

Ah, who knows, we find these things out as they happen.

What's that, universe?

You want me to kill myself? Nah, I don't believe you.

...oh, wait, I can't have my medication? Even after there's been some big bullshit drama over my pills I thought I already fixed?

What's this you say? I apparently have some other prescription coverage? Well, then, why couldn't I get that Lunesta I was prescribed? But now I can't get my actual needed pills because of this imaginary coverage I have?


oh my god, okay, fine, universe, I get the picture. i'm going to go find a knife now, are you happy?


The best part about this is that I couldn't even afford a couple of maintenance tabs, I could barely afford the loaf of bread I got.

FUCK. Just, everything. Today, the past week, 2008 so far, my entire fucking existence. I give up, okay? You win, I lose. I get it.