you are still here

I came downtown aiming to do some cursed job searching, but some Bc green stopped that plan. Adrian doesn't need to worry about the idle mind such things give you cuz he's got a big moneymoney kickin job in the so modern line of work that is music and copmuters and copmuters? Computers. A job. Salary. And I am the desperate rat on the other end.

Kinda slows me up.
Down.

You know what I want right now? One extreme or the other. I wuz about to go into a long description of reverting to past fun phases. Or move on, out, up. I think the latter could happily allow, and foster, the former, don't you? So that's my plan.
Though I am still freaked right the fuck out about the whole damned process. So wrong to me. I don't want to do it.

I want to hitchhike to Baja for NewYear's. At least be on the road by the end of December. Heading to Baja. Or I could stay stationary and save the money toward moving out. Which is so depressingly practical. I'm looking for a partner in crime whose thinking is 'several kilometres south of rational'.

Volunteers?

I get so spazzy in public.

I'll talk to ya'll later. A month or two? I may order a month's worth of dial up service, just to hold me over. (Did I already say that?) Though it will be hard to navigate around my mother's boyfriend rotating late night phone calls. askfjlakjsdtiwj!!! Curses!

I've been living in self-imposed exile lately, in case you were wondering. It's a been a while since I've spoken to anyone over ten, or under forty. I don't speak in complete sentences. I fear strangers. I live for checking the mailbox, reading the comics, and watching North of 60 and Degrassi reruns. And getting handed my little paycheque in my little job. And I never answer ringing phones. I thought voice mail and call display would make me happy with my phone. But now I never risk picking up the phone. Bad call display. I'm hooked.

Help me, please.