Come one, come all. Ogle the flaming tightrope tramp.

I have decided, since I’m so unutterably bad at relationships, that I’m going to walk into the woods, never to return. I’m going to eat grass and berries, and poop Christmas colors for Christmas, and that shall be my Christmas. I shall weave clothing from natural fibers such as snail slime, spider silk, and dried earthworms, and I shall live close to the earth in a hovel I shall dig out of the earth with mine own hands. Or a tree hollow. I have always wanted to live in a tree.

I shall give woodland parties to which none of the little woodland faeries shall be invited. They will undoubtedly be pissed, and pull my nosehairs when I sleep, but I won’t care, for I shall be past caring, having walked into the woods never to return. I shall gaze into the face of the man on the moon and howl at fifteen minute intervals to scare the neighboring village kiddies. I shall weave mud and twigs into my dreadlocks and fashion sandals out of banana leaves and road tar. If there are no banana trees, I shall fashion some. If there are no roads, I shall find at least one. That has tar on it. Maybe I should walk towards California.

You guys, I suck at friendships. And love. And loving friendships. And acquaintanceships. I’m okay with strangers, if the conversation doesn’t go past the twenty-second mark. On good hair days, I can stretch that to a minute. I’m not quite sure what to do about how bad I am with people, which is why, of course, I’m planning to become a psychologist. I’m either too reserved, or too passionate. I either say way too much, or don’t answer the phone. I’m either this, or either that; I’m never happily situated in the middle of anything. I was thinking today, “Balance and I have never been friends,” and that do beg the beeyotch, don’t it? It’s not fair.

I was also thinking that just because you know the origins of your feelings, doesn’t mean you can deal with said feelings. Freudians and Jungians, take note. I can be fully aware that the reason I shrivel up into a ball of despair now when someone says “whoop-di-doo” to me is that in 1972, somebody else said a similar “whoop-di-doo” to me and then punched me in the gut, but that doesn’t stop the shriveling. I have to use my MINDPOWERS for that, and unfortunately, my mindpowers have been on the fritz lately. I need some new mindpowers.

See what I’m already thinking about? And I haven’t even been out of school three whole days yet. I bought an Abnormal Psychology textbook at Ebenezers thrift shop years ago, so maybe I’ll crack that sucker open for a little leisure reading. I’ll be taking the class (with, hopefully, a new textbook) (and also, please God, a teacher) next term, which I’m really excited about. Psychology, I have real passion for. Also, using prepositions to end sentences with. I can do that, a-cause I’m on vacation! Whee!

Hey, you guys. Happy few days before Christmas. You know the funniest line in Bruce Almighty? It’s “I swear, that kid’s gonna poop an ornament.” I think poop is funny. That makes me anal-retentive, I know, but then that’s no surprise to anyone, is it? kiss!