I just lost my whole entry. I'm like the dog. Sip the water, walk around, lick stuff, lie down, lather, rinse, repeat. Kelly got this great game in the mail for her birthday. It's called Art Memo. You have squares with images of paintings and you put them all face down and then turn over only two at a time, trying to make a match. I love it. It's like Super Mario bros. 3. Or like that game you played when you were a kid, right? The dog is trying to catch the fly with his mouth. The fly is a bit elusive to it since it can't smell the fly. It just pricks it's ears and swirls it's head around, trying to firgure out the mystery. When the Restaurant closed tonight, the manager put on this old school metal radio program. We found a common love in the Anthrax cover of "Got the Time" by Joe Jackson. Joe Jackson, what a weirdo. I think i'm burnt out on guys. For real. They are so transparent, and once you figure out what abcess in their personality you fill, well, it's kind of a fallacy. I would say conversely that they are filling in an abcess in you life also. But they are much slower to realize that, or acknowledge it, even if they do see it. So maybe i just need to take myself to the emotional dentist inside myself and i won't have to waste my time with bandaids who need me to soak up the rot inside themselves. I'm not trying to sound sinister. I'm just realizing more thoroughly that mostly people are attracted to that which they don't posess themselves.

I am talking to myself again.

My patience is like the child i have neglected becuase it is not the squeaky wheel. It is so dilligent. When all the spastic vioces inside me scream to make things happen and i am left standing on a pile of rubble, it is always there to hold my hand to help me down off the rocky mass. It's like, "It's okay that you forgot that i'm here, i'll always be here. you can rely on me more, you know." I am remembering more and more readily how my patience is a big force inside of my chaotic space. I was just trying to think of the last time i shat. but it's so regular, i think, that i can't remember the last time even though it was probably today. I'm not missing hope. That is not my mistake to make, it's a good heart to have ye old hope.

I've always thought it would be fun to write songs to a band you love and send them through the mail anonymously and often.

bedtime approaches. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.