drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary


don't look at me!

I've been pretty much perpetually disgusted with myself. Which must disgustingly serve to explain my absence.

Anyway, absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? You must be lovin' me about now.

My ex-boyfriend used to say "Absence makes the heart grow stronger."

Okay, Silly Britty Milo Quote Time.

"For the love of Mike!" (this, I was told, used to be an actual British expression. Those weirdos. Don't they know Pete's the loveable one?)

"Give a man a match and he will be warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he will be warm for the rest of his life."

"No sense crossing a bridge before you've spilt milk on it."

Oops, I seem to have forgotten the rest. There were some doozies.

I intended to be all serious and soul-searching in this entry but I'm too disgusted with myself to attempt it.

I'm constantly hungry. I'm serious, it's alarming. I am always hungry. For everything, food, water, attention, compliments, things to do... Of course I mean mostly food these days. I worked at my taco place today and couldn't stop picking at things (never someone else's food or without clean hands, of course). I was even getting annoyed at myself, I can't imagine what my boss Sarah was thinking.

I have been so terribly PSM-y lately that I almost told myself to fuck off. I don't know where I would have gone, but it might have made me feel better.

It's made me distant, even to JR, whom I adore and can't seem to get enough of. He is very amorous lately.

I have decided that my life-long calling is to open a cereal bar. Cereal has been my food craving of choice lately. So it makes sense that it would be my vocation. Okay, I'm being facetious, but wouldn't that be great? Think how many stoners you'd get!

Speaking of stoners, I have to interrupt my cereal bar commercial to tell you about these guys we got in the resturaunt today. Three of them, eyes all bloodshot, smelling like weed. The first two were handling it all right, just buying inordinately large amounts of food (it should be noted that they all bought the EXACT SAME THING, clearly indicative of an unwillingness to concentrate). But the third one was a total goon. He was smiling blissfully at my chest the whole time, and when Sarah handed him his food, he was blinking euphorically at the ceiling.

Onwards. My cereal bar. Clean, artsy, attractive, comfortable yet classy. Tons and tons of dispenser bins full of every kind of cereal you could imagine lined up against the wall, and a selection of several kinds of milk, rice milk, soymilk, whatever. You could order it by the box or bowl. Breakfast, a meal, a snack, dessert, whatever. However, when I explain my brilliance to others (namely my parents, JR, and John) they lean more towards skeptical than either mentally or financially appreciative. Ah well, all the great minds in history were underappreciated.

That harpist I talked about, with the affinity for weddings? She plays for Charlotte Church regularly, apparently, whenever she comes over here. She tells me I sound like her. I've heard that a million times but never from someone who would know. I've also frequently heard that I sound (and look) like Sarah Brightman. I don't think any of these things are true. I just have a high soprano voice, very pale skin, and big eyes. Their voices don't particularly impress me (or any of the professionals I've talked to) anyway. Both are lacking technique, and it's becoming more and more clear as the years wear on them.

Woah, snobbishness alert. Sorry. I admire the early works of both immensely. Both sounded like pure glass when they first started out. And you have to admire people who are that successful without actually selling out completely. I am by no means presuming to say that I could do better.

I dyed my hair again. I don't know why. I just felt like it. My roots were showing a tiny bit, and I'm compulsive about things like that. It is now a very very dark shade of brown. It is pending an opinion from me. I don't really care anymore. I am bored by the attempts I make to get my own attention.

I'm sorry this is what it is.

5:04 p.m. - 2004-04-20


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