Hello again,

Been a while-eh? Well, who cares?

I live with 4 cats and 3 girls--1 bathroom.

The whole time I haven't unpacked a-single-item-of-comfort,

preferring, instead, the square of boxes with all my life

stuffed.

still working on that positive thinking.

Erin

Fetishising your perception.

And then, you know, there are days when your rib cage might collapse if you speak too loudly, or breathe--at all.

Well, I'm beginning to think that every day survival is situated by how much you allow yourself to be distracted. Remember the marshmallow test? Oh, sure, things are falling apart, but I'm going to the humane society and if I see a wagging tail, well, that's another day won. Dogs = my faithful diversion against the soft white marshmallow of sadness.

Oh, dear, how I want to eat it. I want to wallow in that marshmallow.

Erin

We can be together.

Hello,

Trying to construct a positive outlook on this summer, considering the mess we are getting into. However, I'm having trouble deciphering the difference between "positive thinking" and fooling myself. What if I manage to construct a positive future for myself, only to find out that nothing has turned out the way I wanted. Is that really my own doing? I just wasn't positive enough? Can I really make the moon disappear by ignoring it?

I mean, no one wants to be the fool in the end, so maybe I could just keep all of my positive thinking to myself and no one will be any wiser. I do believe that I have to try everything in my power to keep who I love in my life, and while moving out isn't something that I want to do (with all of my heart I am disgusted by it), it is an experience that will push my own expectations of what love really is. I don't know if I can be heart-sick for an indefinite amount of time and survive, but we will see. This blog will be my testament--thank you, Internet. You don't know, anyway, maybe I am made of steel and brick and heavily treated wood. You know, nails and ammo and stuff.

I'm relying on my German descent to supply me with those things, but we all know how great I am at drinking beer and eating sausage.

Honestly, though, despite everything being absolutely against me, I'm not drowning in my own tears and wishing I could sleep until I'm happy again. In general I think sleep is nice when things are low. Helps the time go by when it's midday and you're not happy. Instead, I'm throwing all of my thoughts into getting a dog, and I'm starting to believe that I need the constant search for the perfect pup to get me through this. I don't know if I'll actually get one or not. I seem to lose interest when the perfect dog moment arrives.

Plus, I really don't want my dog to have heart-worms. You see? there is a fear around every corner.

Erin

Hello Bloggert,

I want my pup to shine.

Erin

Bloggit.

Love and happiness? I mean, really, It's a half-baked idea at best-- an awfully rough sketch of our youths never realize. Time to point our own two paws towards the future, as well.

Erin

bother.

hello again,

I'm running back and forth between two blogs because no place ever seems like home, anyway. It's the sign on the door that has made me so nomadic. I can't get past the sound, "blog," say it to yourself, very quietly. It sounds as if it should be a modest interjection, you know, one made by mice--I left the windows open and now my floor is all wet. Blog. Bloggit all to hell--and boy, will I.

I always run to this thing when I think I've got something to say, some big emotion that needs a good walking. And for some reason I truly do believe that if someone would just witness it, the staunch trot of my unfailing sadness, somehow it might mean something--really. Coo coo, I am aware. After all, my burdens are not your burdens and our culture does not permit the sharing of such private information so willingly. But perhaps I am wrong there, dear cloud, our privacy laws are a'changin'. So I'd keep reading, suckers.

Just kidding, I'm not going to tell you everything. Just that I'm moving out and taking a step backwards. Everyone who knows me knows that it's not what I want, and that I've essentially allowed what I want to dictate the rules. There is no real way out of it, except to drown a little, cry a little, walk a dog a little--write in this damn blog a little.

who knows, maybe I'll be here more often. I've got this warm kitty head resting on my chest, two paws sticking out, reaching for his little kitty future, and I think this might be alright for a blog. And when Abu and I are apart, I'll get a dog and write about his every habit to avoid the real subject, whaddya say?

See you soon.

Erin