UCK!

Ok, I just wrote and erased this huge, self-analytical passage that would be hell to read and was no fun at all to write. I was all, “When I was younger, I thought BLAH and it made me like BLAH,” but it all sounds like dreck and bullshit, and so now it’s gone. It was this crap shit about blablablablah, and it was coming out like a John Hughes production of a Chekhov play. For now, I’m so tired of explanations.

But, to sum up … I’ve matured to the point where I give almost NO fuck about what people think of me in general, and the voice inside me that cares very little about looking like a big, clunky, unpretty, graceless fool is getting louder and louder, and she is HAPPY. One thing this voice is suggesting is that I prepare to change up my whole life again, as well as chop my hair off and get a tattoo.

I know: Oooooh ….
I know. Badass. I know.
And it’s just something I’m tossing around for the moment. The part of the latent punkass voice that is suggesting it is rather small, but deadly serious. It is the voice is one of those South London punks who runs around flipping people off with what we Americans identify as a peace sign and being shrill and saying “oy” and “mate” a lot. She is a big fan of the Clash.

No, but let’s just pretend. If you were my tattoo, what would you be? I’m curious.

The one thing that I can think of is an illustrated version of this e.e. cummings piece:

l(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness

I’ve always liked that little poem.

Word to the wise:

Refrain from watching both “Glengarry Glen Ross” and “Requiem for a Dream” before going to bed. They’re sad enough on their own, but when coupled, work to convince you of humanity’s imminent dissolution, and when you finally manage to fall asleep afterwards, you will have tedious dreams in which you are being forced to watch TV and are unable to move from your chair.

I am longing, longing, longing for the ocean. A glass-half-full way of looking at my Midwest location is to say that I’m equidistant from both the Atlantic and the Pacific. That statement could be turned around, of course, to say that it would be rather difficult for me to be any further from any ocean than I am right now, but that ain’t my style. I am in a really adolescent period of “The world IS, TOO my oyster,” which might be the only fun part of these feelings confinement. The rest of it just makes me sick to death of hanging out with myself.

What to do, what to do?

God Save the Queen,

Kelly

(Oy!)

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

---

BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

---

BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

---

««« Chicago Blogs Webring »»»

---

email:

---

words © luvabeans, 2003 - 2004