Me:  Are you choking?
Anna:  No, how do you make a sheep noise?  Baaaaaa.
Both:  *laughter*
Sherman, from the other room:  You guys quit having fun and get dressed!
Anna:  But there's a sheep in here!
Sherman:  Where?
Anna:  Baaaaaaa.





This is the real reason why the Slusarczyk girls need two hours to get ready for a party.

Get your head out of the mud, baby.  Put flowers in the mud, baby.

The well is empty.

I think Peter VanDerHaagen hung himself while I was away.

All of these things are the right choice.

Because there's no such thing as right and wrong.

Just is.

I think after Tennessee, I might fall off the face of the earth for a while.
Which translates to, give me your address of wherever you'll be for the summer.
I have letter writing written into my schedule. 

It has reached this point.
If you put a trash can on the porch, I'm going to have someone photograph your chin up bar being used as a sex swing.



...And also get my dirty footprints all over the fucking wall.









My rage has to go somewhere, and all I write is love poetry.

The other day:
A nails shift.
Of five men
Only my grandfather
Stayed. 

The abolition of the subjunctive.
The implication of the imperative.


Poetry, again.
There hasn't been a poem in months.

 I am fucking sick of this fucking bullshit.
The end.
No fucking more.

 I feel like I'm a really accepting person.



But I need you to put your clothes on.

 There's something happening here; what it is ain't exactly clear.

 Dear LJ,
   I keep thinking of getting rid of you.
   And then I realize that if it weren't for you, I would only write e-mails and research papers.
   And then I get kinda sad.

The end.

Love,
Alison

PS.  For now, I'm also blaming you for the fact that my literary life has gone down the drain.

 Junior is the cutest (and only) car I've ever owned.

Way to go stock market, for at one point in time being awesome.

 You're right.  It's much better if we just don't talk about our problems.

Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 31 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing.
Step 3: Strike through the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly.
Step 4: For those who are guessing -- looking the lyrics up on a search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like the game post your own.

( Who writes finals? ) 

 An hour a week isn't gonna be enough for me.  Because it leaves me feeling okay when you say how cute our baby would be.
But I like to think that this will work.  And yes, I'd visit Seattle for you.


Oy.




And it's quite these days.  With Mary not attending Thanksgiving and possibly not Christmas, the world is standing on it's head.  And I want so badly to scream at her and tell her how stupid this all is, but when I reach that point of anger, it seems that all that happens is that my food comes up.
It's a strange thing, love is.  And these days it's what dominates and turns my sadness to the rage it actually is.

"I have no mother but the eternal mother: nature.  I shall seek her breast and find repose."
- Emily Bronte

Tomorrow I will be home and my feet will be washed.

It's okay.  I'm happy your going.
I can even withstand the "in love" statement, the sweet ideals you have of two houses and three children, since you follow it up with a lengthy amount of time before we consider it again.
Three months will fly by and you'll be back.  Orlando's not far and by then I should be mobile.  It can work.

And even if our plans aren't the same, nobody can choose who they love.
And it doesn't break my heart.  At least I'm not feeling it yet.

No, no, no.  You do not see what you say you see in my eyes.
You are lying to yourself.
I won't marry you.
I won't even think about it.
And stop telling me that you won't take my youth away from me.
And then asking me to go with you.

There will never be anyone I will go anywhere for.
Even if it throws me into the throes.

 Something about November is intense.
Election tomorrow.
Sherman & Gamelan Wednesday.
Choral union Thursday.
Coldplay Friday.
Family for the weekend.
Homecoming weekend next weekend.
Followed by Trans-siberian orchestra that Monday.
Rachel's birthday and Khaled leaving that Wednesday.
Lisa that Thursday.
Thanksgiving the next week.

Intense.