22:33 - July 08, 2002
i petted a toad
Dodging behind a streetpole to avoid a poodle, since dogs are the scum of domesticated animals and poodles are the scum of dogs, I saw her stop in the middle of the train platform and touch the area right above her left eyebrow; oddly, as if something had rippled in there. She was touching it with the finger wearing the ring; the exact place the bullet hit her. Hit her after, I mean, not in the way of some kind of tactile memory... if you'd been shot in the forehead you wouldn't be lightly touching the skin absentmindedly, right? Your finger would be joint deep in brainsludge and there would be no standing on the train platform. It would be the matter of a wheelchair or a stretcher.

(The probable result of a scatterbrained apathist turned aspiring novelist.. a character sketch within another character sketch... go figure...)

I am decidedly sick and tired of old ladies telling me I'm beautiful. If were to be wanting to attract old ladies, well, then that would be just ducky. But it's the same as saying, 'Well, in the 1940's, the boys would have fallen for YOU.' Now, however.... don't finish that. There was a difference between 'statuesque' and 'gawky' then, and there's a difference between 'striking' and 'sloppy' now. Anyway, my point: No more old ladies are allowed to hit on me. Thank you.

I shook hands with the smokebushes at work today and threw a fit when my mom wouldn't let me put my feet in the triangular pond. Then I petted a toad. She thinks I've gone off the deep end. I wonder, after five years at that place, why she hasn't.

previous - next