Friday, Aug. 19, 2005 - 4:14 p.m.
Firstly: Thanks to all of you who decided to play God and tell me what to do with my life. But no, I'm not going to become a lesbian, or a nun, I'm not going to get a sex change, or move to Nepal and make yak cheese for a living. No, I'm not going to run away with the circus. Been there done that. Stacey: you win the prize for telling me what to do, which just happens to be what I wanted to do all along. Which is why you win. I'm going to become a Republican, buy a Volvo, and run for a Louisiana Senate seat. Vote for me, motherfuckers.
On a different note...Last night it was suggested that I may be a wee bit obsessed. I have given this a lot of thought (obsessively), and must refute the allegation. You see, obsession implies desperation, and always has a strong flavour of sublimation about it. I am not overcoming frustrations, nor am I misplacing emotions or covering up for fears and/or insecurities. Really. Just because I close my eyes and can only see you, just because you flavour most of my thoughts doesn't mean I'm obsessed. Piece of advice though...don't buy a rabbit. And that's as obscure as the references will get today.
Same subject, different angle...Has anyone out there ever had one of those movie-perfect moments where perfection is achieved to the point you become almost convinced that you have been dropped into a major Hollywood production? I got several of those last night...Everything else and everyone else just vanished completely from my perceptions, all my worries dropped away, and I felt my foundations shift. Glorious. Deeply moving in a sick, sad, romantic comedy sorta way. Not a bad way to spend a Thursday.
