how I wish I'd chosen darkness from cold

Swiped from _hallow_. According to this, having hit 70+, I have no life. This must be true as when I just ran down the list and ticked them off mentally, I came up with 69, but when I said what the hell and filled it out, I passed the lifeless mark. Yay me!
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Behold, I survived one night of work. This despite Jeffrey all but pushing me out the door about ten seconds after I clocked in. "You look sick. Are you sick? How are you feeling? Do you want me to take over until 12 so you can go home and get some sleep?" Repeat that last one every way you possibly can, three times each, and then smoosh the entire conversation into five minutes, and you have my first ten minutes at work. So maybe I did look like a vampire had snacked on me, which is how I felt. Unless you believe vamp snacking leads you to fantastic side effects, then we should rephrase that.

Re-reading Bloody Bones. I should have remembered that early Anita is a great way to diet, since it'll make you gag if you're trying to eat at the same time. Unless you're like Cassandra, who has ended many a horror movie with, "Anyone else craving steak?" It still amuses me that she shuddered for years in the presence of anything even remotely resembling spaghetti after se7en, but everything else is fair game. Amusement, I have much.

*hums* I switched with Kathleen, so I have to figure out how to con someone into taking me to the beach tomorrow, fairly early to avoid any freaks who have a similar idea. *muse* Earlier I was just going to go straight after work, but 6am will not work.

I think my muse broke up with me. She got mad at me for not paying attention when I should have. Then again, I think she always takes a break for the holidays, so maybe she'll come back. Still, nothing like a gaping hole where a muse/story idea should be. And then we cycle back into self doubt and the thought that I'm just totally delusional. But no matter, the muse? She's not here. And I'm really, really tired.

I'm not sure I have any big reflection upon 2005 as a whole, other than the obvious, "well, if 2006 is any worse, we're all gonna die, eh?" But I don't really have much for the year. It's kind of a blur, and lately I'm fairly certain that in a year, I will consider this a sucking void for my memories. I didn't really learn anything big or important, or if I did, I'm not aware of it, so it really doesn't count right now, does it?

and I still hold your hand in mine when I'm asleep

I would like to write something, some day before I die, that makes someone else cry, and not because it's an attack on them, but for another reason. A better reason. Is it sad that currently that's my only life goal?

Also, is it sad that I flip through Blender's reviews and look out for the two star or less reviews because it means something's gotta suck? If so, so be it.

[one day] sorrow becomes his soulmate

One day when I'm older, prettier, smarter, better in all ways, I will find someone who loves me best on my worst days. Someone who cannot be in the same room as I am without touching me. Even if we're fighting and breaking each other into a million pieces, our skin will scream out for the other's and we will be unable to fight that instinct. Even if we don't realize it, other people will. They will recognize our inability to be near each other without somehow reassuring ourselves that the other is real, tangible, honestly there and not an elaborate joke created by a cruel trickster God with nothing better to do.
One day I will fall into bed next to this mythical person, and even if they're asleep, they will pull me close, and I will be loved. I will not just feel loved, I will be loved. When I've had a bad day, they will stroke my hair and lie to me when I need lies more than the truth.
Our hands will fit together despite appearances to the contrary, and when we touch I will be home, even if home is a million miles away and destroyed beyond all hope of being fixed. They will be home and feel the same way when I'm holding their hand.
One day someone will make up stories about the day we met and how it was meant to be, even if we both know it wasn't some great plan created by destiny. They will tell me these stories if I ever try to leave, having lost my mind for a second, and will listen when I tell my own story as they walk out the door.
Should they ever leave, should the story take a dark turn, they will think of me and at the same time we will both wonder how we couldn't make it work, even if all the reasons are beyond obvious.
One day I will love someone so much that I would willingly let them go, but not before I found a way to fight for them if the stories didn't work out as planned.
On cold days we'll walk up the street for ice-cream and laugh at those people who think ice-cream is only for summer, or we'll drown the silence stretching out between us in the rain. Either way we'll be together, and I will have hope, even on the darkest of days, that this won't be the end.
Even if it is.
And one day, when I need someone to find me in the darkness that falls unexpectedly, they will at least know where to start the search.
One day I will find someone I will love best on their worst days and I will love them both despite and because of their worst bits.
One day.

hmm. does that count as a postcard from the muse? If you pondered the little lock hanging over the entry, that's because I know it needs work, and odds are you either fell into this filter by mistake [d'oh!], or I figure you won't smack me with a trout for this. Trout away.