Spew, coffee, the demolishment of the senses

Life right now, my dear ones, is about as fun as an aortal hernia. At least, this is what I suppose, although I have never had one myself. The other day a friend of a friend was discussing hers with me, and I decided that, judgin from her description, it would be better to have your toenails removed by a pair of rusty pliers. But again, folks, that's just me!

It is less cold here in oh so friendly New England, land that I love, and due to the demolishment of a prior roosting place I have descended upon a church library. It is a nice, generally quiet place with employees with only minimal attitude problems: I am learning to let other people's stuff be just that, THEIR stuff. It's SO heartwarming, my friends! At any rate, I was in the mood to blog, while I watch the assistant efficiently clear away the coffee. I wish she would be of sound mind to simply leave it there, but alas, some people are so very intent on their tasks! Alas and alack. I suppose that's why the work ethic was invented, so that idle hands would not become the devil's play, or whatever cliche I'm mangling. When coffee is involved, I think a fresh pot should be kept forever brewing. Just my opinion.

I have signed up with a website devoted to helping people with depression find other people with which to talk to about said depression. Forgive me; I was an English major. It's called lonelynomore.com and it's really a rather nice website. There are people with all kinds of mental illness on there, actually, but also people suffering from "simple" anxiety and depression. If you are of like mind, I do recommend it. One c', two mm's? I can never remember.

I am also suffering from something besides lack of coffee, namely with living with my parents, which means that I leave the house every morning wishing I had a set of explosives and a considerably less moral viewpoint. On blowing up houses, naturally. I'm $#*$# pissed in general these days, and could use a long, carthartic session of screaming at the top of my lungs in my car. My mother's, of course -- mine went the way of the dodo a few years back, but I really don't mind taking public transportation. Screaming on a bus is just a tad different, but of course! Although it might be quite fun, actually. Heh, heh, heh.

Ah, life. Converting pain into humor, darkness into light, a never-ending, very tedious process at times, but that's OK! It keeps us busy, it does.

And have a good day, all.