i don't have an inner child.
i have an inner hysterical supporting actress circa 1930.
if anyone happens to know a firm protagonist from the same era, could i trouble them for a slap and a good shaking?

and see, mom? i did call....

yes, mom, i will call soon.

i can't just sit here and watch myself fall apart.
i'm scrambling around in the dark, pawing frantically where the switch should be. it's a better plan than opening the door.
i'll get some fucking light in here.
maybe then, when i find something beautiful,
i'll be able to see what it is...

tell me to shut up.
tell me to stop.
tell me to wait.

i really am intent on a real update soon.....
i'll get my head straight and the ideas will just spill right out.

i don't want to talk about it.

again a long gap between entries born of inaction and an apparent subconscious compulsion to keep this journal as free of content as possible ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

and on the shoulders of the near-greatness of yesterday, i can nearly add i wanna be like you from "the jungle book" to my repertoire...when i'm not really a rock star you can all not really remember me....

in the continuing vein of self-discovery, today i taught myself the worlds worst recognizable version of blue moon of kentucky on ukulele. i don't quite rock in a very small way.

damn.
a girl can waltz through life absolute in the reality that she's so fucking pugnacious and unyielding...

and then her grandmother sends her home-made candy.

first
care-package
ever

thanks, grandma...
really.