est. 1987

Ho, Ho, Ho.

I’ve finally found acceptance of the holiday season. No, I haven’t chanced listening to the radio since Thanksgiving (which makes me realize how I need new music and bad. Lap 200 of Sugarland’s first album isn’t quite as shiny as the first 40). I have however slapped on an animated string of lights to my Firefox. Bah humbug to you, too. Not to mention I was saddened by the acute lack of Christmas tree I have this year. Since the cats have come around we’re too weary of them tearing up the fiber optics to drag the thing out of the basement.

Either that or mom wanted me to drag it out and just never informed me. Ah, well.

Wow, I’m broke. I’m broke and I didn’t even buy gifts. Just standard bills have put me under and sent me into that infamous sneaky hate spiral that makes me want to move to Russia. My ‘death’, as it is planned, may have it in the stars for me. …Maybe not; maybe just in the nearby fortune cookie factory. Whilst over at my godmother’s (to fix my screen) we had Chinese. My first cookie had “Your feet will touch the soil of many foreign lands”. If only, I thought wistfully. I want to travel. See everything. Be flighty (a kind word for avoidant) but have it be a productive means. A bit later I reached for the last cookie. I got the same fortune.

…Who needs ‘third time’s a charm’ when the second is simply so promising?

Many soils, eh? Maybe a trip with Santa will do the trick?


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