in pursuit of liberty.

my house is cluttered. my mind is equally so. but this place. oh, this, this clean, quiet space. it almost echoes, all of its smooth, glossy panel of white. i want to bathe in it. the milk sliding up along my arms, over my torso. rivulets of it like thick paint all along the achilles tendon of the stem of my brain. like a white apple.

oh. steve jobs. you are GOOD.

(you may now proceed with the laughing at my blinding funny.)

while i washed dishes an hour ago, i recognized my urge to defy commands; even the ones with which i chastise myself. oh dear. this is far less funny. you know what *is* funny? my pretentious attempts at literature. no. not my *recent* ones; those aren't funny. they're merely brilliant. i'm referring to my years-old socked-in-a-word-file-o'-garbage-o'-shanter writings. GOOD GOD I CANNOT EVEN POSSIBLY IN A HUNDREDITION (which, if you were one-eighth as intelligent as i am, you would realize equates to one hundred itions. an ition, of course, is a cycle of a certain amount of years. so, you do the math. suckers.) (because i kind of don't actually know the *exact* amount of years in an ition. so if you do the math, then you could tell me. and then we'd both know. which would be nice, because i've been sitting here, trying to figure out how many years is in a hundredition for about three entire fucking minutes, basically ever since i came up with it, and it doesn't even look like a real WORD anymore, which is kind of blowing my mind, seeing as how it ISN'T A WORD, FOOLS. I MADE IT UP. *smacks chest with palms open* *winces* *coughs a little* see how i did that, there? THAT JUST HAPPENED) EXPLAIN HOW TRAGICALLY HILARIOUS MY OLD WRITING IS. it's kind of like lucky charms, my old writing. it's tragically delicious!

oh, and all of that? up there? yeah. i'm stoned.

(is she? isn't she? gosh! she might be! i'm not sure! i don't know! i love exclamation points! i'm gonna use them everywhere for the rest of my durn-fool life, i love 'em so!)

(and then i'm gonna speak in a little lilting voice that will communicate to everyone how proper i am, and no one will *ever* suspect that i cower at anyone's recognition of my deep-seated insecurities in social settings. no one!)

(see? not very kidding about the stoned.)

how was *your* day, dear?