i quote me.
I discovered that while waiting for dawn to come, despair can be quite severe, and the relief which came with the first light and the first birdsongs was stunningly transformative. My life’s perspective traversed instantly the vast gulf between despair and hope, all for the arrival of a little light. Suddenly I was…
see the rest here.
..on that same disgusting vein, from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:
At the University of Washington, athletes often play in feces because workers cannot clean it up fast enough, said Charles Easterberg, an environmental health instructor
eiwww
just thought you should know, from Animal’s Health -Coprophagy
…
e) Feces can be tasteful to the dog.
…
the previous ‘some people’ are, namely, me. i thought there might be some confusion…
also, there’s a new post at my journal.
some people are so negative… they never get it! you can even tell them straight to their face, and they gloss it over like you didn’t speak, and they just continue unimpeded on their whiney-ass, self-pitying way. get over it, will ya? jesus, get a life!
jeez, a couple hours ago, when i couldn’t, i was anxious to post stuff– i don’t know exactly what i wanted to post, but i was anxious to. blogger’s been back up for hours, and i’m barely able to scrounge-up a post before midnight.
i wish everything was different… i don’t know how, exactly. just not like this. some days suck, and some days suck a little less. i’ll be up til there’s a light.
i wish mays would put up another voice blog– right about now i could use the soothing sound of gentle sanity.
it’s the old ‘old-posts-within-a-new-post’ trick…
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Sunday, February 25, 2001
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desperately seeking database, still. be still. . |
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i guess blogger is down. 🙁 wahhh. major wahhh! this (as was the last) is an un-blogger-aided post. kinda ironic, considering the subject of last post. …endlesshtmlcrapendlesshtmlcrapendlesshtmlcrap . |
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doesanybodyelse spend hours diddling with html-crap? i mean, i used to write, a lot, and now i write endlesshtmlcrap. …instead of writing. < sigh > . |
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doesn’t the post office pick-up on Saturday anymore? (i sound old).
i filled-out some cobra paperwork for the ex-employer, put it in an oversize envelope along with a pithy tome, and set it out for usps retrieval. i just left the house to get a grinder (aka a sub, elsewhere), and there was my important mailpiece. i grabbed it, stuffed it in my shirt (i was traveling via bicycle) and set off to find a mailbox which i found right outside the pizza place, and which i walked by, not once or twice, but three times without it occuring to me once that i need to take the envelope out from inside my shirt and place it in the mailbox. perhaps the supreme being is trying to tell me not to send it.
i didn’t know she had jurisdiction over the post office, though.
i’m a writer, aren’t i? why won’t this happen to me? i thought the one on the left was cute, and i look like the one on the right– sort of.
maybe i should get a pipe…
and
— user names i saw that i like.
it’s like giving in to an addiction… i can’t help it.
…What you said in better word is what I think.
nothing could possibly be more complimentary. if only i could speak french the way she speaks english… no, if i could just speak english the way she does. oh.
she slays me
