  "I was over in Australia during Easter.. Interesting to know that they celebrate Easter the same way we do: commemerating the death and resurrection of Jesus by telling our children that a giant bunny rabbit left chocolate eggs in the night. Now.. I wonder why we're fucked up as a race. Why not say something like goldfish left lincoln logs in your sock-drawer? At least a goldfish dragging a lincoln log across the room and putting it in a sock drawer has miraculous connonations.
" "Look! There's a lincoln log in my sock drawer! That's the story of Jesus. " -Bill Hicks Happy Easter. Kurt and I were both off today, so we went and saw "Phone Booth" a truly excellent film that works well as a morality play. There is little movement, the entire thing was shot in ten days on a particular sidewalk in NYC, and the impact of the movie on my senses was astounding.
I like movies that are mostly dialogue, but this one stands apart as being nearly an action film using solely dialogue. See it, especially if you're questioning your priorities; it makes everything wonderfully and scarily simple. As predicted, I am level again. Is your brain you? Or even a part of you? If so, why does a part of me, or me myself want to fuck everything else about me up?
It's a pretty specific and insidious malfunction. I read somewhere once that if one's stomach had its way, it would eat itself with its own acids. Is that how a person's brain is, too? That, if it had its way, if it was missing something simliar to the stomach's protective lining, it would simply consume itself? Brain ulcers? Pizza Poppa let Kurt know that he knew that I was being set up by Lunkhead.
That's nice. I still want to break Lunkhead's kneecaps, though. Tomorrow, a phone payment must be made, or we get cut off. Glad it finally occured to me to actually read the bills that come in, rather than just see them on the table, and not really register that I have to pay for services such as communication. Not much sweat, really, what's going to be sweaty is the confrontation with Marcus on Tuesday. I'm sure he is not going to be fond of my attitude this time, either.
I wonder if I'll freak out at him, or cry whilst on the phone with him. That would suck. My answer to thing like this is violence; I'd rather go into Marcus' office with a bat, and begin swinging, rather than confront him, and say "Um, you know that whole loan money thing that you had to put back because it was my husband's student loan? Well, you withdrew it again, and caused us to default on yet another payment. Can you put it back for real this time? Oh, and that means that you probably shouldn't remove it again.
Yeah. Thanks. " And as soon as the money comes back, you know, if it comes back, the damn account has to be closed before he puts us into overdraft or something the next time. God loves you Marcus, and I'm trying. Well, no, I'm trying not to have homicidal fantasies about you, me, and a chainsaw. (Ya gotta start somewhere, right?
) Picture it: I run into his office, take off my trenchcoat, start the chain saw, and say to him in my best Ash voice: "Yo, she-bitch. Let's go. " Wow. What is with me and the violence lately? My dreams are "R" rated, I keep on thinking of how the Fight Club method of castration would be an effective means of dealing with Lunkhead, and I'm not even sure I want to lay eyes on Herr Landlord. Even thinking about him leads me to thinking about backing up over him with the fruity car repeatedly.
Must be a springtime hormonal thing. At least, that's what I'll testify to in court. I miss my parental units. I get to play my mom's agent and look in on some houses for her. I just hope I can stay awake long enough in the daytime hours to do it. 
