Lesbian zombies and forecasting earthquakes.

So.

This is what a week is like.

Sorry: that was just me talking to myself. It's been busy, and by busy I mean different. And by different, I mean good. And here's me being all cryptic again, so: a recap of this past week: holy crap is kissing amazing, freaking out over a sponge and a bathtub, winged ants, don't yell at me, anime hair, "so?" a thousand times, burning books, lifting rocks and breaking thumbnails, an uncomfortable amount of liquor, CAPSLOCK IS THE NEW AWESOME, mosquitos, being responsible but sometimes slipping and sometimes looking, "don' worry 'bout it", waking in unfamiliar places, driving in the rain without windshield wipers, this is MY crazy, strange milky stuff on the bathroom at work, smile when you serve me my coffee, (holy shit did it break please don't let it be broken), still throwing things at the people I like and being nice to the people I loathe, apparently my eyes are now blue, naps in the staff room, missing the show but catching the circle-jerk, free Tubby Dogs, I have no idea what this is but it's good, if you come in tonight I will yell at you.

Comics, an extraordinary amount of comics. "Don't Fucking Talk To Me". Zombie dog apocalypse. I don't smoke so I'm no longer cool. The Many Trials In Attaining The Wilco Book CD. Everyone's so much younger than me and twice as smart. Everyone knows everyone else. Josh Barsky must write my obituary when I die. Free coffee is not so free. Bribing little girls with cookies and free punches so they won't tell their parents that I accidentally hit them with a wad of oatmeal-raisin cookie dough. Arguing over how to spell 'raisin'. Hugging many men. Oh, and apparently there's oatmeal in the peanut-butter-chocolate-chip cookies.

Shut up. No, you shut up.

This is the only way to describe this last week, as I'm still filtering and decompressing, and sometimes the whole can only be described by its parts. Understand that I love you all, even when I'm scowling and grumbling and telling you to fuck right off.

And now it's Monday, 8 AM.

God, do I need sleep. I need to do laundry. I need to clean my house. I need to call my friends, and make sure that no one's died or converted to catholicism during my absence. I need to do my taxes for the last few years, again. I need to listen to about ten new CDs and read a hundred different comic books, plus a few REAL books that I've promised other people that I'd read. Sleep comes first, though, because it means I don't have to be awake. If you call me during my sleeping hours, I will hit you with a rake and claim that I thought you were a large rodent come to steal my cabbages, so consider yourselves warned.