Lonely is just a word

My biggest fear used to be dying alone an old woman with 50 cats in a broken down little shack, where all the neighborhood kids think I'm a old evil witch and dare each other to knock on my door come Halloween.

I am starting to believe that it was not my biggest fear but a vision of the future.

I am, what you might call, destined to be single. I can not imagine ever sharing my life, my intimacies, my struggles, my habits, my nosepicking or buttscratching, with any other individual on the planet. There has not been a man in my life in over a year, and I am currently spending more time with my vibrator than the television. There have been no heart palpitations, no signs of a crush, no butterflies in belly. I don't even think I would know what to do if I did meet someone. But I won't. Because I am closed-minded when it comes to love or dating or sex. I don't want a real person, I want an illusion, a chase, a spectacle. I want the passion of pursuit. And yes, I think I even covet the letdown, for then I have something meaningful to write.

It's hard to be meaningful when your biggest sourse of sex comes from a purple piece of plastic.

Amanda once wrote me a poem. It was truly beautiful but heartbreakingly sad, that said I would always be alone because no man could ever love me enough to get to know the real me. That I was always going to be alone. Always.

I think she knew even then.

The dead and the fools

Terri Schiavo is dead
The pope is about to be dead
Mitch Hedburg is dead
Johnny Cochran, oh yeah, he's dead too

and the simple fact is I don't care.

It does not effect me. And I hate this attitude when presented by other people. That if it doesn't effect you, than it doesn't matter. It's such a republican thing to say. But meh, that's the way I feel right now.

Now if Dolly Parton died, I would cry.

In other news, April Fools is one of the stupidest days of the year. Right next to Valentines and Arbor Day in my book.

And in other other news, my little sister just gave me a shit pile of clothing that she no longer wears. And since I consider her to be skinny and the clothes all fit me, by my standards, that means I am skinny too. And that makes me happy. What makes me happier is she spends lots of money on her clothes, so that means I have style as well as thrift store finds. Yay for hand me ups!