...a tiresome endeavor...

I'm still wearing the woolen socks my grandmother knitted for me when I was 6, the ones I tugged on last night at around 2am. When I crawled into my roommate's bed to explain and rant and make her read what I had just read, I was physically shaking. Because I was cold, certainly but also because I was just utterly wierded out and more-than-it-merits upset. Decision reached? I've paid my dues, don't gotta take this shit, am cutting, is cut. A nicely typical decision for me, have had lots of practise. Easy peasy.

I'm sure the socks helped because I fell into a deep sleep where I didn't think about it at all, and woke up at 1pm woefully late in my plans for the day. In the next two hours somehow I must get dressed and ready, find my way to Pomegranate restaurant and pick up some food for my mother's party that she asked me to get. Then I must find a missing in action scenester who I'm taking with to the boonies. Oh Miss Lizzy, why can't you just stay in one place?

I swear I need to put a collar with cow bell on that girl.