I have been sick all week.  I am still sick.  I thought I could be all cavalier and cowboyish and just push on through this "little cold".  It turns out… I am not a cowboy.

I've decided to live blog my illness, because I'm tired of not blogging and really, I'm only thinking in short chunks anyway.  I think that should be a term, "chunky thought".  As in, "she's a chunky thinker," or "her thinking is a little chunky right now."

Anyway, more soon.


So this one time our mailman's parked truck got sideswiped by some kid driving crazy. (BTW, crashes are loud.)  The kid drove off.  Of course.  And our mailman was all pissed and yelling when he came back to his truck, which he knew about immediately (because of the loud crash).  But… not that this has to do with anything with this particular incident, and I feel bad for him and all but… the truth is our mailman is not a very good driver.  You could kind of see it coming.

2:11 – 4:30 Nap


Madgirl Lovesong #8

When I think of you…

my mind becomes all newsprint…

black & white jumbled,

paper-mache layered and flat

like some stalker's discovered altar that you see on TV.

You know, on those forensics shows that get a little too gross.

I fear something has broken.


I've decided to write a book! (among the many titles that I've decided to write) but this one will be called The Book of Facetious Dribble.  It will be sort of my personal anthem.  And it will be full of dark humor, and rambling characters and maybe some sort of vague plot scattered amidst poems like the one above.  And illustrations!  It will have to have illustrations.  Probably bad ones, but still.  And it will be unfit for publication, so, of course, I will self-publish.  Because even those volumes unfit for publication are often fit for consumption (as the blog world has very well proven) and I'm sure there are plenty of people who will understand that a mock-serious poem about insanity and forensics is funny.  And further, they will also enjoy my scribblings about cats.  That was sarcastic.  Sort of.  I will still write about cats though.  But probably only the literary people will get the smartass cat poems. 

I'm totally psyched to write this!


No, it's not cold drugs. I really do have random thoughts like this all day.  Normally.

BTW, I am totally annoyed that I haven't gotten to the latest round of improv posts, because I have come up with a completely cool way to kill off my boss.


I just checked on my chocolates ('cause you have to do that) because Keen and I celebrated Valentine's Day/our first date anniversary early and he gave me chocolate and I just checked and… he has TOTALLY BEEN MACKING ON MY CHOCOLATES!  Dude.  I've had two. 

Rest assured, I have not touched the fancy cooking pot I gave him AT ALL!


Author Interview (for when The Book of Facetious Dribble becomes an underground hit (due partly to my diligent schlepping of it out of the trunk of my car)).

INTERVIEWER:  So, about your book… some say the "mad" series of poems, though darkly evocative and sometimes unbelievably fanciful, are based on actual experience… is this true?

ME:  Pretty true.


ME:  Pretty all true.

INTERVIEWER:  Are you sure?

ME:  To the best of my recollection.

blink… blink blink

INTERVIEWER:  What's with all the red and white stripes?


Beeeeeeed! (said in zombie voice)