I wear a permanent frown.

Cleaning the boudoir. The closet more specifically, as it's the messiest thing in my place at present. It basically looks like what my entire room at home looked like (disgusting). Trying to throw things away. I've beaten my OCD hoarding gene (thanks Ma) lately by simply not keeping anything anymore. 'Could this possibly have sentimental value?' I ask myself before placing it directly in the trash. Well it won't now.

But I still brought a bunch of it with me when I moved here. Notebooks mostly. Anne Frank in the attic style. Same as all the ones I have now that they're always trying to wrestle away from me at wherever I happen to be working. I've chased grown men down feminine hygiene aisles and through drugstore warehouses begging them to give me back what I have just finished talking shit about them in. I'm just a little slower moving now that I've been sitting on my ass in an office for a couple years. The maze of cubicles can be trickier to navigate, but I always win.

So I never get my closet clean because I end up sitting cross-legged in it among my piles of crap, reading them.

January 8, 2002

The Good:

-passed all 4 classes
-don't work tomorrow
-Neutrogena tanning lotion
-Samuel L. Jackson soundboard

The Bad:

-he ruined my life
-song stopped downloading halfway through
-stepped on Pete Yorn
-work 9-3 Saturday
-it's 3:35 A.M.
-laundry is outside
-it's cold outside
-lights are still on, don't have the clapper

As always, the bad outweighs the good. I've learned from stalking the life ruiner that he's now obsessed with Britney Spears. Perhaps I shall obtain a deep, dark tan from Neutrogena. I will be dark orange. Maybe I'll even get implants. Orange ones. And a diamond in my orange navel. Then I will go see him and sing "Stronger" at him, just like the video. I will hurl the chair I was writhing around on at his head before flouncing off, leaving him with his hard-on and fatal head injury.

Sadly, I never got around to that.