Art by MeddygonThere is a fine line \ Between genius and madness. \ It is called timing.

Everyone always wants to give their own bit of advice.

How do I say nicely that I don’t want to fucking hear it?

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On a side note, my PMS has figured out how to escape the pill’s control.

I went to bed early last night – early by my usual, that is. 1am. Yay. I woke up in the middle of the night with horrible stomach cramps. I don’t know what was causing them, and I really didn’t care. I was so tired that I just changed position in bed and went back to sleep. When my stomach discovered that it could hurt me in that position, I woke, and moved again. I repeated several times, just waking and falling back to sleep.

I finally get up and stay up at about 9am, because the maintenance guys are cutting a hole in the ceiling of my bathroom. It goes nicely with the hold they cut in my closet last week. The bathroom light is full of dust.

I get dressed and head out to Marshall Fields for the group interview. Of course, they tell me that they have nothing to offer me, even though over the phone they loved the fact that I have much food service experience.
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[Jorenko> BBQ Chicken with . . . . HARD BOILED EGGS. On the same plate. As if they had some sort of business sitting next to each other like that.

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[Schroe> Running around naked all the time. You strange boy.
[Ettin> >: I wear a shirt and shorts! And I smell like feet.

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night1stalker (12:30:08 AM): Yay! An email from Schroe! You’ve devirginized my mailbox. Thank you!
KJ StErOiDs (12:34:33 AM): Why do you want these e-mails, Night?
Schroe Dot Org (12:35:26 AM): He’s gang-banging his new email address. I had first poke.
night1stalker (12:36:07 AM): Poe got sloppy seconds… Poor KJ had to finish up.
HisZimmyness (12:37:13 AM): I’ve always wanted to violate a young, innocent, virgin mailbox

An Invader Zim dream. I should draw the characters some time. They are strange.

As it starts, we have a view of a large crowd viewing a stage. It looks like a concert of some sort, and there is a single female human on the stage, over which every boy is drooling except two. Zim, who is nowhere to be seen, and Dib, who is too busy ranting at his disinterested sister to even notice.

The girl is apparently some pop star, and she had just finished a concert. She grabs the mic one last time and begins some sort of scripted speech. As she speaks, the camera flits from the speaking girl to the ranting Dib. Dib and his sister are positioned in the back row of the concert, standing on top of a robotic lift that their father made.
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Originally done when I was still in Chicago, so the entry has been back-dated to half a million years ago.

Warning, warning, lack of interest in creating comic immanent.

Next >

Last Night’s Dreams:

The dream started at some awards show. I was the lighting/stage crew, so I began tearing everything down after it had finished. People had forgotten things behind the stage, such as t-shirts and music stands. People had returned their shirts, too, because they were too small. I gave them new ones.

I walked home from the event with Jorenko. A man steps up to us and asks us for money. I keep walking, but Jorenko slows down. I turn around, grab Jorenko, and say, “Let’s go.” The man follows us, and I grab Jorenko’s Leatherman, and threaten the man to back off, or I’ll cut him. He goes.
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I finally learned by example how the mind can fatigue the body.

At work, I was tired as hell, but I still did my job. I had no physical reason to be tired. I hate my job, though.

I got off work at 10pm. I walked to Dennis’ Place for Games and played Pump it Up . . .

. . . for three hours straight. No breaks. Not many others were playing, so it was just me, me, me.

Then I walked home, as if I hadn’t expended any energy.

As for the dance scores – I’m getting S’s in Monkey Magic (level 3), Take On Me (level 4), and, of course, Save Us (level 2)