2004-11-23 - 2:18 p.m.

I'm completely buried under with work today. I have so much to do that I can't see straight and while I feel like much less hairy fat guy ass today than I did yesterday my head is still unable to wrap itself around anything useful.

I'm spending the day with green crab data because when it all boils down the rotting carcass in the hot pot of my life is green crab data.

I should be doing real work. I could be writing more of Grape Lucidity.

Know what I did for the first few hours I was here today?

First, let me tell you that I scared people in traffic by playing a cd that Beth sent me really really loudly. Beth had very cool taste in music.

Beth hates people too and I wish she lived closer because we'd all love being antisocial with Beth I just know it.

See, she derailed me again.

Okay, but then when I got to work I derailed me. I looked to see where my increased readership yesterday came from (mostly people from YTDAW who were desperate for CSI fic because fanfic.net was down) and found that someone had done a search at microsoft for Newbury Comics. I didn't remember what I wrote so I clicked the link and it took me to last winter.

I sat here and read my diary for about 2 hours, interspersed with green crab data and only got through about 3 months worth of entries.

Here's the thing though. I actually used to say stuff. And I was kinda funny.

I have no idea when the last time was that I did a decent diary entry.

I couldn't put one together now if my life depended on it because even just typing this is making my head more than just a little whoozy.

Bits of fluff keep falling out my ears. LIke here's one. Whenever I go to the CVS near(ish) my house I have visions of Colin Farrell.

It's kind of like a religious quest.

LIke people who go to Lourdes and see the Madonna (Like a Virgin).

I go to this one CVS and there are magazines with Colin Hotboy Farrell on the cover and I think, I should buy these magazines so that I can take them home and drool on Mr. hotboy. But I don't.

I have a very fickle muse. If I take my eyes from the object of my passion for just a moment it will be gone.

Normally this wouldn't bother me, I just float, sharklike, from desire to desire and enjoy the ride, but when I'm writing it's important to keep my focus on just the one thing.

So I don't buy the magazine with Collin on it. Except then I start to obsess with owning the magazine. I won't look at it, I promise myself, until the writing is done I will keep it in a box somewhere and when my writing is finished and my muse is on break in Fort Lauderdale (don't ask my how I know, I just do) I will take out Collin and enjoy him.

Only like the visions of a spiritual quest they are not available at every cvs.

I go to a bunch of stores and Colin is NOT on the cover of any of the magazines I saw him on.

Delusions. From the sickness.

That's what the non-beleivers would tell you. Those sad people who go through life poking holes in everyone elses little sparks of magic. Demystifying the sparkle.

Bastards. Fucktards. (I threw that last one in there for Splink who thinks that's the funniest word maybe ever.)

On my way to work today I found one of the magazines at another store, not THE one I wanted but the sub one that I wanted and so maybe that one wasn't part of the vision. Maybe it was left behind as an offering from someone else who had made a similar pilgramage.

All I know is that I saw Colin on Letterman last night (unless that was a vision too) and damn it if he isn't the Wimiest thing...

Okay, head really woozy now and no point left to typing.

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