I know it seems like a really trivial thing, but it strikes me as odd.

You know those big, dark blue, US Postal Service boxes where you drop a letter into that slot and then the friendly mail carrier comes along and takes it to the post office?

Well, do you?

I'll take your silence as a "Yes." Not that I am sure that you are silent, as I am having trouble hearing things over the voices in my head, but I digress.

We have two of those outside of the building I work in and I saw some guy cleaning one - giving it a real, nice scrub. Not just a wipe, but a full body rub down with a happy ending kind of thing.

Yes, I made a prostitute/hand job joke. This is the new me. Take no prisoners... blah, blah, blah...kill me...

My friend Heather called the other day and it really made me jumpy. I've been struggling with my faith lately and I mentioned this in an email to her and she didn't email back and almost a week went by and I figured - based on my knowledge of her - that she was trying to think up the perfect words to say and that she wouldn't email until she had found them, which would never, ever happen.

So I'm thinking I'm off the hook. My girlfriend is out of the picture, most of my Christian friends are more than happy to leave well enough alone; if I don't call them, they wont call me - which sickens me on some level, and Heather is stuck in some self-involved feedback loop that she rarely can break out of, and so forth. I can just sit by myself and be a God-damned apostate and no one will notice or care.

Fine

Then Heather had to call and ask me annoying, pointed questions. Bitch. I was happy not caring anymore. I don't want to believe. I just want to get my booze on (Do the kids still use that expression? Who the Fuck cares. You say "tomato", I say "Fuck You!") and watch pr0n all night.

Bitch

So, I'm back here at diaryland. I can't seem to leave but I can't seem to stay. I don't know why I'm doing this.

So, I still haven't heard about that story I entered into the Improper Bostonian's fiction contest. I guess it's too early to think maybe they didn't get it or something. It's only been a month or so and I'm sure it takes a long time to read all of the entries. I wish I know where it stood so I could start trying to get it published. It's really quite good.

I wrote a horror story a few weeks ago - about zombies, go figure. I haven't been able to write anything good since then. A lot of false starts but nothing worth showing to anyone. I think I'm on to an idea but I wont be able to start for a couple of days due to class.

ugh

bitch

fuck

whatever

Would someone please mix me a gin and tonic. It's almost lunch time and I'm still sober. If this keeps up I may have to start doing shots of bourbon.

BTW, the word "fuck" is not in my spell checker's dictionary. Fuck that.

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Plotting