May 10th, 2004


Dear four am, you disgust me.

Four am, I've had it with your nonsense. I thought once that our relationship would work out, but now I see that we just want different things. For instance, I want the sweet, sweet oblivion of sleep, and you want only the cruel merciless brutality of an all nighter.

You leave the toilet seat up and you don't respect my mother. Your language leaves a great deal to be desired; I mean, couldn't just one sentence be more than a fragment? Please? I feel that asking for a simple declarative sentence simply isn't too much to ask. It's not like I'm begging for subordinate clauses here, or as though I were bugging you about dangling modifiers -- no, I'm just saying FINISH A THOUGHT.

And by the way, I didn't want to tell you this before, back when I thought we had a chance, but you smell funny.

I don't want to be friends, I just want you to move out. I'm giving you until tomorrow, buddy, and then I'm sending all of your things over to Goodwill. So get your friends, Five am and Six am, to help you out, because I'm not lifting another finger for you. Not unless I can help it.

Also? I'm keeping all the stuff from Ikea. You can have Pottery Barn.

Goodbye forever.

...or until tomorrow. (What? Everyone has that one last time after a break up...or that several last times...)
  • Current Music
    Tribute - Tenacious D

Confessions of a Dangerous(ly Tired) Mind

*cue British narrator, possibly Patrick Stewart* Here we see the Nifra at work. Let's watch.

We fade in on the scene of an undergraduate in her native environment. There are books piled knee high all around her, and papers scattered across the floor. The space beside her is littered with empty coffee cups and old cigarette packs and her trash can overflows with empty coke bottles. Her eyes are bleary behind smudged glasses, and it's clear by looking at the mounds of dirty clothes piled beside her bed that she hasn't done laundry in quite some time. The sweater she's wearing has holes at both elbows and her jeans have obvious stains on them. Her expression is one of dumbstruck confusion, albeit slow-witted confusion. One can guess that she hasn't slept in quite some time by her delayed reaction time, and the rings beneath her eyes.

Nifra: ...but I feel like a did a bibliography last night. How could it possibly not be here? I remember it so clearly.

The computer doesn't answer, as it is inanimate. Nifra glares at it harder.

Nifra: No, really...I typed up all the books, and put page numbers and everything. It was just before that guy knocked on the door with the purple flowers. I swear to God.

The computer beeps, as if to say, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Nifra: Wait. Purple flowers? What?

Again, the computer remains silent, showing only the outline that Nifra has written without any bibliography.

Nifra: There aren't any purple flowers in my room. And I don't know anybody who would bring me flowers.

The silence in the room is deafening. Nifra looks around from surface to surface, blinking slowly.

Nifra: ...that didn't happen, did it?

The computer beeps again, this time seeming to comment, "No, you fool."

Nifra: So I dreamed that. During my three hours of sleep.

The computer hums happily, a quiet purring that, if one strains, can be made into the words, "You are a crazy person."

Nifra: Ain't that the truth.
  • Current Music
    For What Reason - The Flaming Lips
johnny sex

Malfunction, yo.

...the yo seemed neccesary. I can't explain it. Just go with me, here.

Anyway -- anyone who's been trying to email me? I sort of filled my inbox ridiculously full and so everything's been bouncing. So try me again, because apparently all is klar herr commisar. (that was completely phonetic, I make no pretense at being able to spell that at all.)
  • Current Music
    Prisstina - Sleater-Kinney