Calling all nasonex-using botanists, sea cucumbers, and bulimics

Self-evisceration - please see Sea Cucumber.

I feel like self-eviscerating.  Mostly, I feel that it would accomplish 1) me getting out of myself, and 2) washing out my insides with sea water.  Or water-water.  I wouldn't want to do it in regular air.  I wouldn't want to get dust on my insides.  And I don't really feel like doing it to my real insides - it's more my emotional insides that I want to temporarily eviscerate.

That is how I am this Easter.

I went to CPK.  I ate some calamari.  I saw some burlesque dancers.  I think I have a cold.  I bought some flowers, and they smell just like my nasonex.  What kind of flowers smell like nasonex?  Do you know?  They are like white lilacs, sorta.  They are bulb flowers.  If you are a botanist who has used nasonex, please tell me what kind of flowers I have.  Thank you.  Here is a picture.  Maybe it will help.

Do bulimics feel cleansed after they puke?  If you are a bulimic, maybe let me know.  I bet, though, you just feel guilty, or how I feel after I have charged some things on my credit card - like I temporarily got away with something.  Is that what it is like?

This is the most un-easter feeling easter I have ever had.  I can remember how easter feels, but I can't imagine feeling it ever again.

Maybe some antibiotics will fix me.  Maybe I will charge something to my credit card.  If you would like to order me something from amazon, you can.  That might help.  Thanks.

Finally, congratulations to my friends who are going to have some babies.  I am most excited to see your babies.  Please keep me posted on the recent baby symptoms and developments.  Is anyone else going to have a baby?  It seems to be going around.

The Tower

I was planning on staying in the tower late tonight, until I had all of my typing done, but the lights started going off and on and off and on.  It is okay for them to go off - they are supposed to, if no one is moving around in front of them.  They should not go back on, however, if no one or no thing is existing in front of them, and ordering them awake.  There was a sound, like medical gurneys rolling around on concrete, above me.  I've been to the floor above mine, and it's covered in grey berber, not concrete.  It's the home of The Office of the Building. 

Anyway, the building, the tower, was making this horrible noise.  I decided it must be the rain hitting the roof, but then I remembered that I was in the middle of the building, and that the roof was as far away as the ground.

I decided to leave.  I thought maybe it was an omen, or that maybe something was going on outside that I should know about. 

Sometimes, when I am experiencing something not quite right, I wonder if maybe I have died and I'm really a ghost and I haven't figured it out yet.  So, I tried to ascertain whether there had been an earthquake, and I was so traumatized and killed that I just didn't realize it.  I didn't find any proof to support that theory, so I shut off the computer and got out of there.

From the parking garage, I heard the building start up again, and the windows pulsed with each gust of spitty rain.  Office lights were on on the fourth floor, somebody or nobody was walking around on the fifth floor.

Was anyone on the floor of The Office of the Building?

Once, before the upper floors were completed and filled with lawyers and financiers, I went to a blood drive up on...twenty something.  The floor was cement, and even though it was still a few days before Halloween, one of the nurses was dressed up in a leopard outfit.  She had drawn whiskers on her face with a black eyeliner.  She put me on not a gurney but a blue lawnchair-hammock hybrid.

My blood came out very quickly.  It always does.  Some girl who had been lying there for forever, waiting for her blood to drip out, complained.  "How come she's already done?  She just got here."

"She's got good veins," the leopard lady told her.  I do.  I was very pleased that everyone noticed.

I wonder if the building noticed, and whether it was pleased.  I wonder if something happened today to displease the building.  If I were the building, I would consider most of what goes on there, day after day, to be most displeasing.  If I were the building, I would ache for someone to rollerskate through empty cement floors at nighttime.

fluorescent non-bivalve's club

Dear blog,

I've been nervous these past few days.  I have physical symptoms.  My stomach burns, and last night I ate thirteen peeps.  My computer, she freezes, and the television might calm me but it would be irresponsible to turn it on because my biology final is coming and I have not yet memorized all of the phyla.  I do not know all of the plant part ploidies, but I do know that I am not, nor have I ever been, a bivalve.

In fourth grade, I was in a club with nine other girls.  We met in Eileen Buscano's basement and called ourselves The Fluorescent Girls' Club.  I thought the name was clunky, but Eileen liked it, and she was the most popular.  Two of us were social pariahs.  The rest were in-betweens.

I told Eileen that I knew about ghosts, and that I knew someone who could do seances.  The seance girl was a third social outcast, a new girl who told me on her first day of school that her mom was a psychic.  She would announce, at lunchtime, to anyone sitting near her, that she was allergic to everything except buffalo meat.  Most people hated her.  Most people hated me.

Eileen told me to bring buffalo girl to the next meeting.  We sat in the basement, holding sweaty hands, a candle in the middle of the table, with me and buffalo girl on either side of Eileen.  I couldn't focus on conjuring ghosts because I was too busy watching Eileen, thinking she has us there as part of some mean trick.  But, Eileen shut her eyes when buffalo girl said so, and shouted out whenever she saw the candle flicker.

Ultimately, no ghosts came.  On the last meeting before summer, Eileen staged a plan to throw buffalo girl into the pool.  Buffalo girl screamed when she hit the water, and then sat crumpled and wet on the cement, covering her face with her forearms, shouting, "Stop laughing at me like I'm a monkey in the zoo!  I'm not a monkey in the zoo!"  Suddenly, I was glad that I hadn't warned her about the plan.  I hadn't been glad before then.  Before then, I was sick, sort of how I am now, burning in my stomach, my elbows and shoulders all fluttery and electric.  After the monkey thing, I felt like there really was a Fluorescent Girl's Club.  It didn't matter that Eileen and most of the other girls stopped talking to me again after that.

Buffalo girl never trusted me again, not even after she moved away to another school, not even after we were all grown up and in high school.

I still don't know what s he was talking about with the whole monkey thing.  Maybe a ghost can come and tell me some day.  Do you think I have to close my eyes first?

Peeves

I thought, as I showered this morning, that I would make a list of my pet peeves.  Let's see.  Athletic apparel (not including cheerleader or ballet outfits for girls but including cheerleader or ballet outfits for boys or, as some call them, men) and other sports paraphernalia (including the super-bowl), pears, nail files, pencils, the wind chill, sleeping pills - wait, is pet peeves the same thing as a list of things I hate?  I don't care.  Sleeping pills, the phrase "stuff like that," my dad calling me and saying "stuff like that" several times in a conversation, my dad calling me by his ex-wife's name, my dad calling me, geography...I know there is more that I dislike.  I'll let you know if I come up with anything else.  Oh yes - Bloomington/Normal, Illinois.  And walnuts.

Now, I will include a picture, if I am allowed, of me playing the role of nerdy secretary.  I use this thing called method acting.  I learned it in Bloomington/Normal, Illinois.  Do you like my new glasses?  

The Very First Post

I have never made a bloggg.  Usually, I make frequent changes to my friendster profile. 

This is like being in a theatre where the lights are all off and no one is around, and standing in the dust at the front of the stage and talking.  I have done that before.  Have you?  What do you think about when you do that sort of thing?  I can never figure out if I'm doing it for myself or doing it in the hopes that someone, somewhere, can see and hear me.  Does that make me a not-atheist?

How can I distinguish the mundane details of my life that will please you from those that will aggrevate?  I suppose all talk of my cats is out.  I have pictures of my cats on my cubicle at work.  I have some flatworms at my desk too - maybe that cancels out the cats.  Their mouths are where our belly buttons are, and they like to eat boiled egg yolk.  For some reason, this fact makes me want to type about my grandmother, even though she didn't eat boiled egg yolk.  She ate fruit and fiber.  She is not at my cubicle.  I don't know what she had where her belly button should be, and it's too late to find out now.  Thank god for that.

I must go to Target.  Goodbye, blog.