Waking the Dead

The beauty of the LongSleep is the waking up... it's also the terror of it... there's the prospect of falling back asleep and there's sudden clap of bright noise that makes you short circuit.. But it's all about being awake, no?

I forgot to send harry potter my notes, which should make fun the, already festive, Vichy and Holocaust class, in which i'm reasonably sure i'm the only gentile... glad the irish aren't major transgressors... except obviously amongst their own... and they eat their young...

Me 'n' Ying are on Plan Infinitum, which never ceases to both improve and ruin my every waking step.. but they're waking steps... again, that's the point...

i have to clean... it's embarassing to even let the various and seemingly infinite delivery peeps of manhattan see it... but i imagine they've seen it all... they probably just think i'm the youngest eccentric cat lady on the map... which would be true if i was actually 12... more embarassing still to have houseguests... which is why mine will be sleeping under one of new york's finest bridges, though she doens't know it yet... it's heartbreaking the lies i'd tell for spicy cheetos and cute girls...

this needs italics... i'll start my own blog regime and it'll have italics and everyone will be pied pipered in with my delicious blog propganda before they even realize that they've changed all their names to those of my choosing and unconsciously hum my anthem throughout their 20%-goes-to-me workdays.... it at least appears that i'm already in the Vichy state of mind this morning...
off to ALR, the bane of my existance... my third attempt at advanced legal research and my last change to pass that fucking class, made especially for cardozo by satan's handmaids....

and into the bath go i, into the bath to lift the spell, to have, to wed, to get, to save, to kill to keep, to go to the festival, into the bath and happy ever after...