I decided that I sounded illiterate in that last post. Like a slang-dispensing Snoop after too many ounces of Mad Dog 20/20. So I erased it, and thereby erased my banana liquor tinged shame. I have so much to do, that the fact that I'm writing this really does speak to my dedication to the sifting and sorting of my mental refuse. Seriously though, the first draft of my thesis is due, I have to apply to all these residencies by the 31st, and the MFA show is on Sat. Whew, shroud me in your pity, blog-blanket. Swaddle me with nameless, faceless internet love. Cloak me in fake Craig's List ads asking for people with "equine interests....". Sidenote: a friend of mine does fake Craig's List ads, and often lets me read the responses. It's actually amazing to realize how many lonely people are out there.
Ringo, Paul, Keith and John, you were so right to ask the question, "where do all the lonely people come from?" Answer: the sewers. Yep, they use their leprous(?) claws to ascend and interrupt the lives of normal happy folk like you or I. And then they eat your Thai noodles and any other frozen items, for the lonely people love cold or readymade Pan-Asian cuisine. I feel sick for sympathizing with them in this regard. I like vermicelli. SIgh. I think it's just a coincidence though, as I'm certain that there are no lonelies in my distinguished and decidedly coupled lineage. Nope, it can't be. I wouldn't be nearly as good-looking as I am if I had even a drop of Hemmingway-like loneliness in my system. I would be craggier, more sea-faring, and more hirsute.
My, my, I took the sarcasm to a new level there didn't I? I think I've lost my sense of humor, because that little paragraph was definitely a 5 on the funny scale. Like a Paula Poundstone stand-up routine (5) or even Rita Rudner (4). Again, sigh.