someone did a search on 'Shalom Alechiem' and came up with my page. Which I have to move. I hate tbns.net, as I said. but the Abby, who is Good, recommended emote.org. I'll let y'all know.

Don't know what to do with myself. Well, i need to clean/pack/etc but I get in here and I can't move for shit. What I want to be is back where the Fox is, getting the Amis de L'ABC in too thick with Armand and the Theatre des Vampires.

Well, soon, hopefully. After I go to feed les chats de la bug and bean, and boxes appear in my house.

Oh dear. Now all I want to do is stay on and talk to the Sophia who just magically appeared. But I have to Go Be Useful now while I can still force myself.

Funny. I had to force myself to get on right now, and now I have to force myself to leave. I won't make the mistake this time of saying that I don't have reasons. But I am furious with myself for at least one of the reasons I'm not quite happy today.

Yes Rabbit, it is permissable for Ellen not to be home if you call her, and if you call again, her mother shall raise an eyebrow. yes, yes, Mme. Catholique is 3000 miles away. So is Ellen. You know all of this.

Stop all your 'i don't knows', cause girl, you're a liar. Only reason you don't know anything is because you're reel good at convincing yourself that you don't remember. And at not thinking. And at taking the words out of your own mouth. What you don't know is how to answer. What to say. And it can never be the Truth, because you always lose sight of just what that is. Truth. So many damn truths. It sets lost all in the translation. You're not speaking the same language as anyone cause you just remembered that they ain't speakin' the same language niether.

Decided that everything we know is memory. There ain't no such thing as an original thought, or if there is, then it ain't original no more. Stored up in the collecitve memory. And I ain't the first one thunk that up either. Nawsuh.

Sold copy of the abridged journals o' Sylvia Plath on half.com. just gotta ship it, monday. I think we can make myself do that. betchyer booties.

Damn, I better get myself offa this thing before the damn fleas skeletonise me.

shalom alechiem, world.

<<agé chose>>

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