Sugar Shock
July 11, 2009 at 5:04 am (diary) (boys, carrying on, creepy guys, delight, disgust, food, health, love, materialism, minor plans, real life, the great plan, whining)
Electric blue nails. A little bit gobby. Watching Zombie Nightmare. A smidge sick to my stomach. Guess it’s time to talk about another aspect of the Great Plan.
It may involve two weeks of no nonsense health. I think it needs a little strictness because I have been all over the fucking map. I’ve also met caramel macchiato ice cream which is most regrettable indeed. I feel, I hesitate to say it so plainly, but I need to get back on the old rickety wagon. Water, walking, biking, not living in perpetual sugar shock and drifting in an out of this boy-crazy, exhausted, wounded dream state. I’m sick of licking my wounds, frankly. The Great Plan requires me to take a stock of this anyway, on the path to super-happy-foreverness, so now is as good a time as any. I mean, sure we’re going to the Renaissance Faire on Sunday, where if you want to eat there’s cruddiness a’plenty. It all sounds fairly like the precursor to a night of worship at the porcelain altar right now. It’s smarter anyways to just drink a shitload of water (lovely image, there) and have some string cheese and whatever I can get in and try and do the best I can. I’ve never been a giant turkey leg kind of girl, really. It’s more the point to people-watch and swan around in a dress and be a part of the whole beloved silliness. And of course, get my cards read. Maybe I can ask about the Great Plan and see if this is the right track or if I need to get more militant about this shit. I don’t want to pay 25 bucks to be told that everything’s fine. It’s not. However, I don’t want to pay 25 bucks and walk away feeling hopeless. It’s a fine line they straddle. I’ve had some shitty ones and some good ones, but I suppose it’s the desire for a disinterested party (aside from the whole me paying them for advice thing) tell me what’s wot. I’ll report back on this.
The night is finally cooling down. I’ve been making a giant mess today. Spilling things and with the heat of the day, I’ve been so unmoved to care.
Got to leave work early and I had a little excursion, hence the electric -nay, “East Village” blue nails. My sister’s down in the dumps and I can’t do anything about it. I’m tired as fuck. Along with all the other psychological rigamarole percolating in my genius brain. I also got a little sorta Daisy Mae peasant top and shorts and blue mary janes and false lashes and some of this sinful ice cream and I’ve promised myself that there will be no getting out of hand after today. I’ll either be really cute tomorrow or terribly gaudy and tragic. It’s a thin line and I straddle it every day.
I’ll also report on if the Farmers Market brings any excitement this week. I’m doubting it. I am hoping for a nice taste of some deadpan, wry and deft humor as opposed to the terrible and horrific and one-sided banter I’ve been exposed to lately. I’m hoping for a few hours of monotone.
