I started on a rambly life-update post, but lucky for you it was just as excruciatingly dull to write as it would have been to read.
I think what I’d rather do is ramble to someone in person, preferably over coffee. Anyone up for coffee?
Nutshell observations on life:
I need to dance, bad. Was all set to go last night, but came down with a sudden case of the I-feel-like-craps. And then the dog puked on my new skirt.
Speaking of which, this dog is wearing away my patience. She’s sweet-natured, quiet, undemanding, and she pukes at least twice a day. Apparently there’s some kind of cycle limit on that “–like a dog returneth to it’s vomit” thing, because after the second regurgitation today she refuses to clean up after herself.
I feel fine today, though. Better than fine. I want to clean, code, dance, flirt, conspire, play, chat, jam, drive, sing, and build. Or something.
Except I don’t feel fine about this house. It’s a wreck and it smells of dog vomit and garbage. This is exactly what I was escaping from when I moved out of my dad’s house.
I made dinner last night. Chicken fajitas, It was fun. Gotta do that more often. After I take a bulldozer to the kitchen.
I bought a harmonica at Cracker Barrel while we were traveling. It’s amazing how much pleasure (for yourself) and annoyance (for everyone around you) $5 will buy.
Gonna call a doctor first thing after the new year. Not being able to run without my lungs collapsing, and not being able to drink coffee without burning pain in my stomach, are seriously cramping my style.
Lovecraft should have set his stories in Florida. So much of it consists of vast stretches of desolate, silent, blasted scrubland fading imperceptibly into trackless reeking swamps where the pitch-black water lies motionless and foetid. Every living thing not in constant motion is overtaken with fibrous lichens and great fungal growths, blurring the lines between earth and flora as if the whole scene were painted in watercolor which has smeared and run together. I visited a graveyard where the ground itself exuded a putrid green slime, some kind of algae or fungi, which spread and choked the feeble blades of grass.
I can’t escape the feeling that all the people I know who vacation in Florida are actually visiting a completely different Florida. Like they are actually talking about the town of Florida, California, population 6,000, or something.
What is everyone doing for New Years?