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Previous - this entry written on September 28, 2001 at 3:20 am - Next I'm damn tempted to get my diary reviewed... but that would take work and effort. Since currently, such taxing occupations as breathing and counting spots on the wall seem to be taking up all my effort (thank you, high fever and near-overdose cold medications, you make my life brighter) I do not think that getting reviewed will be my first priority just yet. However, it's on the list. *waves a disturbingly long list written in crayon, el-cheapo ballpoint pen, and of course the good old standard: fingerpaint* Ha! Thought I was gonna say blood, didn't you? I'm no goth sicko.... ermmm... ok, I AM, but in this case I'm actually sort of avoiding the goth-ness of blood and all dark things. Really I am. And yes, I'm VERY not-sober. I think that's about everything I'd intended to say, that and to announce that at least part of my writer's block is gone, thanks to Drake, who has once again managed to put a cattle prod to my subconscious and inspire it. *bounce-zap-bounce* Caleb is watching some bizarre shockwave about 'personal brain'... it's REALLY fucked up. You can click here to see it... it's almost cool, or would be if I wasn't so very very not sober. It's rather disturbing, now. Ok, no, it's REALLY disturbing. Yeeeech. Not my bag, baby. That's it. I'm done. Go away.
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