oh my, it's late again. and what have i done? a bunch of crap for work that i didn't have to do and i lost yet another copy of the phantom tollbooth. if you find it, please return it. it's got "2.50" written inside the cover, and it's dog-eared right where the doldrums explain that nothing really *is* worth doing and you shouldn't do anything other than nothing.

so many loveables have been having birthdays. virgos rock.

i got a bass guitar. wheeee. yet another thing i can totally suck at. but now i can look cool while doing it.

i feel like everything's okay. everything's contained. in containment. the really yucki things are under quarantine. i can breathe. i can breathe but i can think of nothing that isn't worth anything more to write.

roses are red,
violets are blue,
i need more lubricant
and less glue.