i've fallen and i can't get up

i have been in what can only be described as a coma since saturday night. i have gotten pretty much no work done. i have missed meetings and deadlines and the news. but other than an itchy throat, i'm not really sick. i just can't stop sleeping. at first i thought i was fighting off a bug or something. then when the sleep became a big heavy beast splayed atop me, i started to fear something more sinister like mono, cfs or plague. in my hypochondriac haze, i asked a friend today what she thought would be an appropriate duration for incessant slumber. "what if you're just tired?" naw, too easy, i said. surely i must be dying. but being plain old tired might explain my wild fantasies about calling everyone i work with and declaring myself unavailable for three days. my ass hole brother might be in cancun right now, but vacation for someone like me would be just be to go scandalously unplugged.


saint WTF

my luck in love might SUCK ASS, but my general mood doesn't have to. on this irritating day i am accessorized in lime green and busy and suitably distracted from the annual consumer carnival that is valentine's day. i'm no goddamn gratitude journaller, but enough Good Things happening for and around me lately are keeping out the cliche funk. i'm coasting in the middle somewhere between lisa loeb and the emily dickinson side of things, sticking with sarcasm and timely vibrator jokes. the best defense a single grrl has against society's relentless insinuations about her value is a fun date with a gay boy followed by a midnight rendezvous with a stand-by straight one. there, done. no need for anything floral or chocolate or whatnot.

as for those who like a little activism with their shellacked cinnamon hearts, nawl has a valentine's day action, as do those angry women... although my ear to the proverbial ground tells me that the backlash against equality and the F word and organizations has women less angry than exhausted, fed up, and a tad fearful. but we're not going away, so the mood descriptor doesn't matter, really.

the ad hoc coalition formed by women's organizations around the status of women hoopla has mounted their own website and are asking harper and his peeps to put equality back on track. postal worker women are saying it with candy.

an especially tight valentine's squeeze to gwen landolt, whose comments on the hill last week reminded us of how much misinformation there is out there to correct. they also serve as a heartbreaking reminder of the dark hate that exists in some towards equality, the people who strive to advance it, and the assertion that everyone should have it.


monday headlines

day 22 without a cigarette and things are alright. nobody's head has been bitten off, no fist has met a wall, little children aren't scurrying off the property in fear of the big vicious scary lady. i haven't bawled or suffered headaches or generally fallen apart. in a dream last night, i drew long sexy hauls off a full cigarette and LOVED IT. but i don't feel threatened. the mostly mood-related cravings are decreasing, as is my fear of what engrained pulls might emerge once the election campaign begins.

i must have still been riding the performer's high after friday night's gig - got a lot of glowing compliments on the vocals, so i guess that's why i felt the need to sing along loudly to some of the performances during the grammy's, which i casually watched while editing amnesty's annual report. pretty happy for the dixie chicks. they must be gloating all over their mansions today feeling vindicated and shit. good for them. fuck bush, fuck the backlash, fuck the death threats, fuck the small minds. nice. also feeling gleeful for m'grrl miss mary j, who also kicked some serious grammy ass. she and her album are totally awesome. makes me all mushy inside when The Industry - typically a piece of shit we need's care for - recognizes the right people for the right reasons. it's like the bully or boss having a moment of good conscience.

at oxfam today trying to get technologically rigged. irritating, but better than working at home where three strapping adorable lads arrived this morning to paint. this is, apparently, what is called progress. not only are the renovations downstairs slowly happening, but by the end of this week, my kitchen will be blue and my bedroom will be purple and my living room a fresh parisien white. the jacking up of my environment's pallette will surely work magic on the inner one. colour therapy, i think they call it. to me, it's a gigantic check mark on the big fat to-do list.



Hi. The title of the article on Harper you sent as attachment is really catchy. However, I cannot read the article as it is coming side ways (90 degree turn clockwise) and has very fine print. Print size could be enlarged but reading sideways is next to impossible. Harper actually belongs to the Bushee-Bushee's born-again christian class who believe that God appointed them to right the wrongs while they are doing exactly the converse. May their Lord bless them with common sense and humanity. He is going to fill all federal prisons with the young offenders. Amen.



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