It's not hilarious - it's a sign of life.
I'm going to sit here and drink wine with one hand, but I'm going to set the glass down to type. These are two events that seem to be happening simultaneously - but it's a ruse. I'm tricking a huge giant who lives high in the sky and only sees me as tiny piece of dust, typing on a computer and drinking wine at the same time. But if he's could get off of his stupid ass sky house and take a real look at the goddam situation for once in his fucking life...maybe he would see that I don't drink wine while I type.
That's confusing and potentially hazardous to my computer. Idiot.
Another interesting development:
i just lit a cigarette and started smoking it. I had to stop typing altogether, AND not be drinking wine. The giant might see this as an anomaly, if he took the time to carefully watch (WHICH HE WOULDN'T. fuckin giants). he'd probably study it, until he sees a common enough pattern and realize that
"...this appears to be just another habit the tiny dust mite has. Though it is interesting to note that the creature seems to have less anxiety about performing the acts of 'typing' and 'smoking' simultaneously. I have noted a frequent, yet clumsy and haphazardous pattern of, what I have come to call, 'smoping' where the creature lackadaisically leaves a cigarette in her mouth and tries to type without getting too much smoke into it's small centered eyeballs."
This is a weird rant. I think it's over now.
But in other important news:
-Should I continue to stay out here? Should I go inside and make guacamole?
-I probably wouldn't get around to eating much guacamole tonight, honestly.
-But if I make it now I won't have to make it tomorrow. and guac really needs to sit a bit to be really delicious.
-whoa, what if my avocados still aren't ripe enough for all the squishing?
-maybe I'll just watch a movie and fall asleep. I have some pretty sweet movies laying around.
-I'm wearing a onesie for adult humans.
-upside: really comfy. downside: going to the bathroom.
-note: must input crotchal snaps into the adult human onesie.
Really though: typing in all caps is so joyous. It's like the running down a hill screaming for the internet.
Or being the weird autistic kid at the party.
There's a mostly dead cat whose been wandering around my house living the last dregs of his life near my porch. It's depressing and has got to be a bad omen.
I put the men in menstrual cycle.
I'm still cold and it's still Sunday. Fiddleeee deee.
Life makes it dreary march on the steps of my porch. Limping along with Space Aids.
this all sounds really depressing, but I'm not really sure I'm in a bad mood. Moods are just moods. They float around like tiny specks of dust moving and pushing nothing that really matters. and if you never clean you get a build up on the top of your record player, and it looks like you never use any of the cool toys you own.
Speaking of dust, I'm allergic to it. I'm allergic to fucking dust. How does that become an actual allergy? We're allegedly made from dust, and we're going to become dust again at some point. I was told that most Ash Wednesdays of my whole life. Does this all mean that I'm allergic to the state of not being alive?
I mean, that's actually a fair thing to say. But maybe a little redundant.
Unless, when I die, I'll just give myself a huge sneezing fit. And thats what death will be like. Pretty dumb, kinda weird, and really boring.