if ever i write a memoir, the part of my father will be played by a talking trashcan.

like what if seven of anne, seven of green gables, was allowed to entertain her best friend, the EMH, for a whole month while Captain Janeway Cuthbert was off on an adventure in the holodeck, and seven of anne got into the raspberry cordial, or she thought it was, but it was in fact red currant wine, Janeway's famous red currant wine, and the EMH ( Read more... )

It's one of those days when my clumsy typing fingers cannot keep up with my thoughts, my thoughts are so expansive, luxurious, dripping liquid gold all down my skull, it's a Mardi Gras up in my mind, shiny purples and deep vivid greens and so much faux gold, so tacky and perfect, I love it, I love it ( Read more... )

Free-write. Because I just woke up and I haven't even had coffee or first breakfast. If the Hobbits have a meal or snack that comes BEFORE first breakfast, I would very much like to know what they call it. Nibbles ( Read more... )

delta of genus species phylum ( Read more... )

Pause ( Read more... )

If I could jump up that lemon beam of morning sun and say ZIPPITY DOO DAH and be all like, efficacious and opportunistic, don't you think I WOULD?! Wouldn't you? It's 7AM and I've sweated my clothes clean through, need a new jumper, a jumperoo, I'm a jumperoo, and I have just one question for YOU: how come Rabbit dislikes Tigger but not Roo? What's ( Read more... )

On such a day as this when sun seems to shine, blissfully oblivious, perhaps, of the human dramas unfolding under its very nose, it seems a shame not to step outside and whistle and wander and enjoy the proverbial roses, or lilies as it were, and yet I seem bound to my domicile, and start to feel a foreboding guilt as intense and even palpable as ( Read more... )

I must speak to the fact that I have been holding back a good cry for days. If I feel myself give into it, the tears come fast and furious, my nose burns, my throat tingles, it's all so intense. My body knows my grief better than I do, perhaps. I have been using all kinds of substances and sleep to hold off the grief, the giving in to the grief ( Read more... )

Another lagging moaning morning mission is complete and you can be my Santa Claus nightmare with big feet. I don't know what that means, just that I am compelled to spell it out in rhyme, is that a crime? I cannot be so certain of myself, my very physicality, and I have misplaced a pile of fungi. Darn ( Read more... )