La fille au rasoir.

Sucks to be anyone interacting with me after a morning of insufficient sleep. Not that I want to be all snide, surly and godforsaken cranky (though it's frightfully delicious at this very point), it's just not very pretty being on the receiving end I imagine.

So it's 4am, and I'm running on a 2 hour barely-there nap. Driving at 1 (which as of this point is doomed to be cancelled), overnight dvd to rush through; bloody resume attachment to churn out. Essay draft due with a fuckload more research pending and 1001 books on Indonesia (?!) to thumb.

Hols are ending, and I don't feel like I've gotten anywhere. I want to be held and left alone all at the same time.

I feel like kicking babies.

On another note, Coffee and Cigarettes beats Mystic River and Taking Lives hands down. Go figure.

***

How empty of me, to be so full of you.

The next plateau.

I've never, ever had to wax the legs before, but while sitting cross-legged in bed today I noticed several omfgstrandswherethereshouldnotbestrands. It's enough to mortify just about any self-respecting female... I mean, we're talking about someone who doesn't even bother with shaping, let alone trimming her eyebrows, but leg hair is just not tolerable. Especially if they're dark and fine; sparsely disseminated trooper types. Unfortunately, yours truly is way too cheapo (and broke) to shell out money to have those unruly things delt with professionally, so... I hope sugar wax does the job it's supposed to.

So yeah. Added a new *grumble* link. Welcome to the unruly flock, and yes, this is a shameless advertisement so pire can chalk up the visit counts (and brag about share the oh-so-important life story). You have been warned: beyond these gates lie the fires of hell.

Love is sour strawberry rope and two gorgeous Herringbone shirts.

***

How do you forget the love of your life when she says she still loves you?

Sour times.

Most of the time it doesn't matter too much or even at all (no, really), but the rare times like these I feel so acutely jealous it makes me churn inside. Enough to want to throw a frickin huge tantrum and sever all ties and really get out there, but then what does it leave me with? There's settling, and then there's settling.

Fuck money, fuck happy couples with puppies in the park.

Of course I'll feel differently in an hour or two, so bleh. Fuck this unfathomable thing called lurve. -_-

***

The hurt on her face is disguised as contempt. Like all ice queens she has a heart of glass. The ice queen, burning up, but only on the inside, where no one can see.

The naked husband.

Can you measure a relationship in years, I wonder? Never mind the quality, see how far back we go? What is love, a relationship? Is it a safety net, a habit, something that once you have committed to, you endure, no matter what? Just an insurance policy against being alone?

The beauty of reading is in the almost psychic way the thoughts in your head are put to paper, as if all minds were transparent, and the words penned were your own.

***

Why do the street lamps die
When you're passing by
Like a band that won't stay on my shoulder tonight?
If you held me close, would you laugh it away?
Would you dare the glance that I steal to stay?

"I'll Find A Way" - Rachael Yamagata

In memorium.

So I've been saving this little snippet I read off someone's website.

"September 11th haunts me everyday, in subtle, little ways. Mostly, however, I am haunted by the memory of a woman I met at the funeral on September 10th. She was my cousin's close friend, and someone who died less than twenty-four hours later on the upper floors of the South Tower."

Its poignancy struck me, I guess.

I don't know what it's like to have lost someone in a war, or a car bombing, or a terrorist attack. I don't want to know, but all I'm saying is, you'll never know until you know, you know?

Some days you look out the window and even the blackest things can seem pretty in their own right. Other days you look at the world and think, god, we're a downright shitty place.

***

You hurt the ones you love, but you only destroy the one you love the most.

Flicker.

Depressed. If I could defer a semester of school right this very moment I would.

110-220 ad analysis and 106-212 letter due tomorrow and I'm barely half there. Unmotivated, and it isn't even as if I've actually been slogging like hell all through the weekend with the acute knowledge that the night of Tuesday will be my undoing.

Where does the time the time the time go?

***

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there I do not sleep

Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there I did not die

"Prayer" - Lizzie West

On the lash.

Struck by an overwhelming need to bitch and get it out of the system, if only momentarily before it all goes back to humdrumness.

Wtf is the point of sitting around and doing absolutely nothing yet whining endlessly about being bored with nothing to do?! Get off your fucking lazy asses and DO SOMETHING, or stfu and go the hell away. Hypocritical attention seeking low-life geeks.

Mrngh. Crappy mood made worse by Sputnik.

***

It�s raining in Baltimore, baby, but everything else is the same.