this is the fear, this is the dread

These are the contents of my head...

Something has happened to my self.
And now, everything is strange.

It's unsettling, this displacement sensation -
where did everything go?
My reliable mind: vamanos muchacho.
My delight in the everyday: extinct.
I feel like a changeling, like my chest is stuffed with leaves,
and there's no room left for me, or for words, or art, or breath.
and yet -
and still -
sometimes there is such longing.

Change.
The deadliest occupation on earth.

In other news:
Today I made some Christmas cookies and it was as if I'd never cooked before in my life.
I forgot to preheat the oven, and when I did - I set it at the wrong temperature.
I neglected to properly grease my pan, and left the baking soda out of my first batch of gingersnaps. When I was boiling the goo for pralines, some volcanic bubbles
blurped out of the pan and blistered my wrist in three places. I got my potholders wet
while administering cold water to those burns - which I discovered only upon using them
to take a stainless steel pan out of the oven (though I regretted it immediately).
By the time I was finished, it was difficult to tell if anything even tasted good.
But, it's good to remember that if there's enough sugar in it,
somebody will almost always eat it.
And speaking of eating it; D. finished putting a skim-coat of mud on
the bathroom wall last night, and there is sheetrock dust EVERYWHERE.
I brushed my teeth this morning and.....bleeeech.
Somehow, I will be having a party here Saturday night -
which, if I don't morph out of this pupae stage, could be ugly.


On the pathetic t.v. front: Invasion won't return until January...
which reminds me; where are the Sopranos??

Time to vacuum.


oh -
P.S. Dear Victoria's Secret Christmas show: Fuck off.