Hopeless

Hopeless and
Hollow,
Moving robotically.
Empty and
Exposed.
Not who I used to be.

Voter Angst

Take out your voter angst here and find out who they think you should vote for. Enjoy the dark humor!
http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/voter.php

Hanging by a Thread

First thing this morning a student turned in three overdue books. On dying. It took all I had in me not to cry while shelving them. I wish I didn't have to be here today. I have to be though. There was a very important meeting this morning, and another one is coming up. I just want to go home and lock myself up at my place and never come out again. I want to make God mortal and then kill him. I want to scream. I want to go to sleep and not wake up until right before I'm due to die. Or when a time machine is invented. A part of me has died, and I don't know when I'll ever be whole again. I've lost the most amazing man I've ever met. I've lost someone who could read me like a book. Who could finish my sentences. Who knew when my happiness was a facade. A facade is going to be my new best friend.

Reagan Quote

True, lasting peace cannot be secured through the strength of arms alone. Among free peoples, the open exchange of ideas ultimately is our greatest security
--- Ronald Reagan

I could not believe where I encountered this wonderful quote. It was on a site for a Bush supporter. How strange is that?

Jello

My brain is jello today. Has been since around 2 or so. Didn't hang up from talking with Jason until 3:30 in the morning or so. You know it's bad when I'm not witty enough to remember a line from the Declaration of Independence as a smartass comeback. When my twang starts coming back.
My surroundings have been too institutional lately. No pun intended. And my blog writing has been so blasse. If only I'd let myself out of the grasp of the grammar queen. She lurks in my brain and tells me that sentences must be diagrammable.
So I suck. Especially in comparison to people who let themselves go in prose. Like Dogboy. And in comparison to the commander of dialogue, Pratt. And to the mayor of Smartassville, Yager.
The paper-grader and former legal secretary does all the typing. And acts as the libby. The romantic poet hides all her poems. And lingers in a gondola staring up at the sun peeking through the fog. She wants to vaporize all formalities. But she knows that when she lifts her veil, lightning bursts from clouds she didn't know were there, leaving her feeling vulnerable and afraid. She'd rather be happy and only seldom make public appearances than have to admit her desires. Her fears. Her quirks. Her superstitions. And she'd never admit that she's really the one who holds the strings. The grammar queen is but a puppet.