I just broke a 28 hour fast---
With a muffin. 


Kind of strange, but, it's not the broken fast that disappoints me.  No, I'm just mad because this muffin was not delicious fucking cake.

Lance has a cold.  Normally, I would not consider that post-worthy, but said brother is in the habit of veiling the tell-tale symptoms. No, you won't suspect a fucking thing until you've broken into a fever and your ass is falling off.  ---Circumstances under which you may later think to ask, "Do you have a fucking cold, you crusty little bastard?"  Too late.  The seed has taken root, and the strength to strike him in earnest has significantly diminished.

Needless to say, I have quarantined myself in some [small] effort to avoid all this.  All purchases have been made online, as I am certain he's not the last victim.  No, there may be moar.  I won't be touching hands with anyone.  I was doing fine on my restrictions, but now I'm eating to save my defenses.  Fuck.

( So, while I was all locked up... )

( Also, more M&M for Pink_Rain. )

Graphic-heavy post. Quiz results and--- more quiz results.

( Likes: Knives, Green Day, and Staying up all night. )

Mid afternoon, and I'm going to bed.
It's too quiet now, even for me, but I've never been more content. 

[---But not with the results. 
Those are... damaging.  Hah hah.]

I don't want to go.  I hate the host, and every one of her arrogant, snobbish relations.  ---The whole lot of them; pricks one and all.  [That should say something coming from me...]

Did I mention the dinner? 
That's always fun, right?

But of course, I'll do my best, regardless of how I feel.  Pretend that I'm gracious and pleasant and coy... 

And who's to day that I'm not?  My 'troll face' is immaculate.
[Problem, Stephanie?]

Hah hah.  Too bad I can't come as myself.
What an interesting party that would be.

Still, I wonder.  Why in the hell was I even invited? 
I wouldn't invite me...  Not even to drop off the ice.

Then again, if I don't come, poor Steph will have no one to snub.

---But what am I saying? 
To even suggest that I'm not a rude shit?

There's no reason for me to be worried. 
Realistically speaking, I should fit right in.

Thanks to nightcrawler_2_'s suggestion, this journal will now include tags.  ---Now you'll never have to miss another thing I post!

Ever.

Aren't you lucky?   Aww.  What's the matter?  Hah hah hah...

( Now, what's inside your bag? )


Don't worry.  I was only kidding before.
But as much as I post, I need the tags.  Not even I can find what I've written.

Any male character that I chose to set as my icon. 

Believe it or not, I don't pick based on personal preference. What I'm saying is, favorites don't count.  If we share nothing at all in common - if I can feel no draw or connection, no similarities- then I'm not not using that face as an image.
___

Moving on.

I want to thank everyone who responded to me last post. 
I'm used to people not giving two halves of a shit, so thank you, and I mean that.

Just to give you an update, Lance is...  Lance needs a lot of work, and me--- well, I'm no drug counselor. 

Still breaking his murmured promises. 
Still sauntering in after sunrise.
Still a pulsing pain in my ass.

Hell, I did his half of the chores last night [bunch of adults living together?  fuck yeah, there are chores].  I'm not doing that shit again.

On the plus side, I won't be dropping the meds too soon [no changes here, I'm still out my fucking mind], but I'm never to leave the house without them.  ---I figured as much.  It's like child-proofing all over again.  Guess we might as well put the bleach away too.

Anyway, I've got a job interview lined up [maybe two], which is kind of like playing 'pretend' [polite, level-headed, responsible?  yeah, okay].  Send me some luck, if you can.  This is my chance to own an apartment. 

To protect what's left of my mental health, I think I need out of this house.  I'm officially fat as fuck, making 108 my newest goal [108 just sounds...  good.  Auspicious even.  Consider the fact that I've raised it from 83].  Progress soon, but none of my highest.  ---That shit is disgusting.

I've got my work cut out, I see, so I'm leaving to work my ass off.

Again.  Everyone.  Thanks for tolerating me. 
Hope I can return the favor.

This is a drug-related post.
Just thought I should give you a warning.

( See, me and you we almost had the same outcome, Heath, 'cause that Christmas, you know the whole Pneumonia thing? It was bologna. Was it the Methadone, you think? )

Hitting my second goal weight in the next three weeks.

I have to admit, I was losing my drive, but nothing motivates me like envy [ed_progresspics?  More like "goddamned kick in the teeth"]. 

Besides.  There's something I think I'd like to show off.  ---Something I've worked very hard for.  ---For whom I've worked very hard for.  With that in mind, a little stiff competition won't kill me.   It's about time I showed some promise, right?  I can't avoid my reflection forever.

Damn it!

I logged in today with all intent of posting the incendiary, angst-ridden rant that I'd prepared, but now there's an ill-placed stop sign in my busy intersection.

What the fuck.

I can tell you right now that I won't be reading the answers written because, for a certain---for a certain---they would send me into a blinding, unameliorable rage.

Animals, for a fact, are capable of feeling. 
[Watch a dog wag it's tail, or cock it's head in confusion].

But regret? 
No. 

Tell me.  When's the last time you caught a cheetah ...sulking.  Lazing against a tree, eating some grassy, bug-filled bullshit because it failed to catch that one gazelle.  If you said "yes, I have", do me the favor of leaning forward. You have not, and you will never. 

"Baaawwww!  If only I'd been a little fasteeeerrrr~!"

Fuck that!
If anything he's resting. 

That's his plan; to Solid Snake the next long-limbed bastard that comes dancing across that plain. ---Hopefully one of the morons that thinks he has any regrets. 

Animals don't have time for that shit.
I guaran-fucking-tee you, there's no "I wish", or "damn, I should have"s.
If they miss, they try again, or [get this] find another target/interest/pillow of yours to completely fucking ruin.
 
No, unlike us, animals don't live their lives in the past.

Of course they get angry, frustrated, maybe mourn for a moment or two, but, animals move the fuck forward.  They want for things just like we do [on a much less needy and baser level], but, our similarities end with that.  For them, there is always another opportunity, another chance, or something better to chase and devour.  This is why they don't bitch and blog [read: "Fuuuuck!  I couldn't catch a fish!  God hates meeee!"]   ...I know what the fuck I just said. Don't get technical with me about their minds and "fingers" and shit.

The question is not: do animals have feelings.
The question is : do they feel regret.
The answer is: no, or fuck no.  Feel free to choose from both.


Jesus.


Look at that.
Look at all that time I wasted.

Fuck, I hate stupid questions.