I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I've been so out of of lately: glassy-eyed, spacy, bumping into tables, hiding inside sweatshirt-hoods. Not wanting to talk to anyone, but wanting to be talked to. Basically feeling more and more like a ghost every day.

I really need some human contact. Fortunately, I am going to a party this weekend that I'm assured will be "off the motherfucking chain." I am not really a party person, but hopefully this one will be good. Not just good, but "off the motherfucking chain."

Ummmmmmmm, what else. I guess there's not really anything I want to talk about. Maybe something exciting will happen at Leona's tomorrow!

Oops!

In one of my typical displays of brilliance I managed to slice open the middle finger of my right hand with a cat-food lid. This comes immediately after the papercut on my right thumb finally closed up. The bleeding from my newest cut did not stop until I made a little tourniquet out of kleenex and a ponytail holder. I am sooo MacGyver.

This reminds me of when I bought a first-aid kit and a swiss army knife before backpacking through Crete, just so I could be all authentically outdoorsy and rugged, but it turned out that the only time I used the first aid kit was when I accidentally cut myself while playing with my swiss army knife.

I have a bunch of half-written posts saved to draft that I don't feel like finishing, especially now that I only have nine fingers. Maybe tomorrow. Except no, I have to work at the library and Leona's tomorrow. Maybe Thursday. I signed up to work at Leona's on Friday and Saturday nights because I am stupid. Irrelevant, but I just feel like bitching. ttyl

An Ode to Love, In Particular Love of My Own Genius and Foresight

So I've been so preoccupied with being a huge bitch that I totally blew past the one-year anniversary of BurcuandCarlos, whose beautiful beautiful love is both a testament to idealism and happiness, and irrefutable proof that I am an interpersonal genius who knows what's best for all her friends.

I remember last October when I realized that Burcu and Carlos were perfect for each other. It was - please forgive this analogy - the way I get when I realize I've stumbled upon the perfect thesis for a paper. Where thinking about it more leads not to flaws in the argument, but proofs of its correctness sprouting like flowers, like glorious flowers in the glorious springtime. Two brilliant, compassionate, eccentric idealists, both of whom I was crazy about and whose happiness I longed for. I thought about it so much I couldn't sleep. And then they finally met, and even my puppylike enthusiasm couldn't smother their burgeoning romance. HOORAY!!!

Happy fifteen-days-late anniversary, you crazy kids. Here, for your amusement, is a photographic reenactment of your coming together:

I just got home from work. I am tired straight through to my bone marrow.

The only thing making Leona's bearable lately is that I've been getting totally glammed up before I go. We're talking clubhopping-quality glam. Straightened hair, glitter, perfume. I love it. Especially since the rest of the time, I'm the queen of fleece and undereye circles. I think I may have already written about this. I'm getting deja vu.

Clearly, there isn't much I have to write about, or much I want to write about. Oh! Yesterday Jay, my Leona's boss, came to visit me at the library because i wanted him to meet Edd, my library boss. Like so many of my great ideas it played out better in my head, because after the introductions and the "nice to meet you"s, it became clear that there really wasn't anything else to say. I ended up prompting, "Soooo, I'm sure you guys have a lot to talk about. Like...me....and...being a boss." And they both looked at me like "What the fuck is wrong with you?" That's a good question.

Okay, I'm going to sleep - or, if I'm too exhausted to sleep, I'll close my eyes and ruminate, like I've been doing so much lately and always.

A Squirrel Story: Dedicated to Loreal

Today I was trudging along my usual route to work, late as usual, when I passed a squirrel clutching a tree trunk and looking at me. Not an unusual occurence by any means, but I actually recognized this particular squirrel because 1. He's really fat, and 2. He doesn't run away when I stop to talk to him (yes, I'm the crazy lady who talks to squirrels. Especially now that I've brought out my giant winter coat with the giant hood, and, oh yes, I was wearing the fleece spacesuit again today.). So, of course, I had to stop for a chat. I whispered, "Hey buddy!" and he climbed down from the tree and scampered over to me. I was like, OMG, he's going to let me stroke his little squirrel head! But when I took a step toward him he ran away again. So I stood there and said, "Hey little guy!" and he came back over and

CRAWLED UP MY LEG AND ONTO MY COAT AND HELD ON TIGHT AND LOOKED AT ME!!!!!!!!!!

As you can imagine, I just stood there for a second like OMGWTFBBQ THERE'S A SQUIRREL ON MY COAT, and then I regained my composure and tried to resume my original plan of stroking his little squirrel head, but he bit my finger - not hard, just like, "Don't touch my head, bitch!" - and scampered back down. And then back up again. And then back down, and then back up, and there were little wet marks all over my pants. And finally he went back down and ran away, and I had to get to work anyway. I was a block away when I remembered I had a little bag of cashews with me! Squirrels like nuts, right? That's what Hollywood tells me. Tomorrow if he's smart enough to approach me again he'll get a little squirrel feast!!! I love squirrels, especially my new friend, whose name is Bradley Chalkers, by the way.

Oh yes - I felt a little dizzy afterwards. I think I hyperventilated. And the wet pawprints on my pants dried, so I had no evidence. So, either squirrels love me, or I've started hallucinating. Both are likely.

I just spent the past two days getting reacquainted with the second season of Sex & the City (the only season we own, randomly), and still felt like being passively entertained. Since I'd already watched my only two DVDs, Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, approximately 53643627 billion times, I asked my roommate if she had any recommendations from her own meager DVD collection. She recommended the Boondock Saints - negative - and an 80's movie called Girls Just Want to Have Fun. An 80's DANCE CONTEST movie called Girls Just Want to Have Fun. Starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt and Shannen Doherty. Really, the choice was made for me. There was no choice. False dichotomy. My hands were tied.

When I was eight years old, I had a pair of knee-length skin-tight jean shorts with a fake stone-washed pattern and little multicolored triangles bursting out all over them. If a movie were based on these jean shorts, it would be Girls Just Want to Have Fun. In other words, there are no words. How had I never seen this movie?

Sooooooo, since I'm stubbornly trying to avoid saying anything of any actual significance, last weekend I finally got around to spending my $40 Sephora gift card. I haven't really been wearing makeup lately - I can hardly dress myself in the mornings, much less apply eyeliner - but I had just a freaking great time trying on practically everything in the store. It's like my surrogate candy store. I love it. I ended up getting an Urban Decay face palette and some Stila concealer since my skin has declared war on me, and also to cover the dreaded undereye circles. I have a little joke with myself that if somebody whom I usually wear makeup around sees me makeupless, the first thing they say to me is "You look tired." For example, I usually wear makeup to Leona's, but today I went straight to Leona's from work at the library job to get my schedule, and my coworker Bev said, "Danielle! You look...tired." It was great.

Clearly, I don't have anything to write about. Or anything I want to write about. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel comfortable enough to write about school, or life, or God (or lack thereof), or HOW I HATE GEORGE W. BUSH, or how I started crying like a little bitch in front of my library boss yesterday.

New Keyboard, NEW LIFE!

I've been without a functional computer keyboard since Wednesday, and today I finally trekked to Office Depot and bought a new one. Old keyboard, you served me well for our four years together, but it's time I moved on. To an $11.99 Belkin "Basic."

Not much to report, I guess. I was sick for most of last week, and I slept a lot. Like, a LOT. I'm still a zombie. I keep "waking up" in the middle of a moment - like, I'll be handing someone a tray in the kitchen at Leona's, or standing in a long line in a crowded supermarket, or walking down the street at night, and all of a sudden my awareness will switch on, and I'll realize, "Hey. I'm here. I'm here. What the fuck am I doing here?" Thoughts of screaming loudly and destroying nearby merchandise ensue, but are not acted on. I don't feel very satisfied in my current state of affairs, obviously. But I press on.

Yesterday I was working with one of my favorite coworkers, Melissa. She's been dating a guy, Kwanzaa, for a month. He used to work at Leona's too (surprise!) but was fired two weeks ago for bringing out a beer before punching it into the computer (I know I mentioned this a few posts ago, but I'm still dumbfounded). Anyway, she had a kidney infection a couple weeks ago and he was at her house taking care of her, and she told me that before he left, he filled up her empty ice cube trays with water. I think that's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. Just a small, mundane act of thoughtfulness, and I guess hearing about it affected me enough that I had to mention it here.

As Long As The Stars Shine Down From the Heavens...

I consider myself to have OK taste in music. I would never presume to have any indie cred whatsoever, but I genuinely like a fair enough number of non-mainstream musicians that my preferences, if not entirely hipster, are at least entirely me.

But there are times when one's emotional state can be soothed by only one artist. Only one artist croons the words that assuage my inner tumult, that make me feel less alone in this vast cruel world.

And that artist is Selena.