Staring at a blank page is never very conducive to writing, I usually end up daydreaming or thinking about things best left undone. Thinking too much can be a bad thing, especially when you are a walking, talking disaster like myself. When I spend too much time inside my head I end up making questionable decisions and involving myself in dicey situations that though fun at the time, leave you with serious doubts as to my mental stability. Then again, most people probably think I'm fucking nuts anyway, so what's the damn point?
I hate to question myself but it happens from time to time, especially when I'm at this in between place. Kicking makes me doubt myself, it makes me feel incomplete and for those first few weeks it runs a mindfuck on my emotions. Nothing I can't handle though and it doesn't last forever...it just seems like it does.
Do I sound whiny? I think whining is repugnant and I try to do as little of it as possible. Dare I hope that the last few sentences sound factual rather that pitiful?
I haven't much of anything interesting to say....
Adrian called and has offered to finance a trip to Espanola. Having remained unusually silent these past few weeks, he chooses this particular time to tempt me with dope and his delicious self? Typical!
I put off getting tattooed until next week because getting drilled with a needle is the last thing I want to sit through right now...unless that needle happens to be filled with heroin. Dare to dream...
I am in a particularly foul mood because I keep thinking about how much I would have loved to kick Casey's sister in the cunt, just to help her on her way out the door of course. I have a feeling that if I talk myself into leaving the house I will end up getting into a "discussion" with the first stupid cow that looks at me sideways. The thought of stomping on someone's head sounds delightful right now...too delightful, which means I should probably keep my ass the fuck home! I need a&b charges like I need an asshole on my elbow.
I have apparently been awake for too long and am becoming delirious because I have been giving serious thought to the conjoined twins from the movie Brothers of the Head. The idea of molesting them seems to become more appealing with each passing hour but in my usual CUNTrary fashion, I find that I would only want to do so if they were in fact conjoined. This is not the case and I'm oddly disappointed. I am in no way attracted to the Treadaway boys...unless they are in the guise of sweaty, music playing Siamese twins, that's just how it is and one more reason why it's best not to stay in my head for too long, it's scary in there. I suppose it's the same bad wiring that makes me wish I could have been around in the 1930's so I could hunt down young, naive Jimmy Stewart and corrupt him in every conceivable manner. Yeah I said it, I would have wiped that dopey, corn fed grin off his face and replaced it with something...sinister and frighteningly attractive. Can you imagine a debauched Jimmy Stewart? I can. Oh yes I caaaaan! Hahaha....I'm serious. Then again, most people will read this and have no clue who the fuck I'm talking about, what a disgusting state of affairs!
Anyway, I'm not making much sense and it's times like this that I ask myself, "What would Jesus do?" Conjoined twins, that's what!
G'night kids, I'm sending you all the lovin and kissin that you've been missin...loverman oh where can you be? A lil Billy Holiday never hurt anyone.
~Melody
