(no subject)

Showers are good.

Chocolate is good.

Poetry is good.

Ideas filling my head are good.


So, here's a bad poem for myself:

Not enough time on my hands
to spill out
all the things living
in my head.
How can you make it pour out
from brain
to hand
to paper
to you
a thought from me on the way things are?
Not enough paper in the world
and not enough time
to fill it all,
at all.

(no subject)

ANTHONY YOU STUPID, DOPEY BASTARD--WHY AREN'T YOU GOING TO BED!!!!?!?!?!?

Note to self: Yelling at oneself, though very empowering, does absolutely no good. One simply does not listen to oneself.

The sad part, is this will make tomorrow bearable...

Ennui Kills...

MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW
MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW!

I'm tired. I'm now full (Togo's yummy goodness). I have done my flirt today (again, Togo's yummy goodness). And I'm still at work.

It ain't that I ain't gots shits to do, ya know...is that I don't wanna do the shits that I gots to do.

And now, I shall turn off my Ebonicophone, and go back to writing half literate faxes, making annoying phonecalls (to everyone involved) and talking to JD's and PhD's who should all know so much better than to be pissy about anything.

And maybe I shall dance around the office later...yes...yes, that would be good...crank up the BIS and riiiiiiiiide...