I've taken yet another cocktail of muscle relaxants. This week seems to be about being r e l a x e d. Heh.

Yesterday I walked down the hill to the mailbox and paused for a long while at the building on the corner of Melwood and Finland. It's falling down. It's not the first building I've seen collapse rather than be torn down in this neighborhood, and I kind of suspect it won't be the last. Most of the upstairs windows have blown out, and it struck me as remarkable that there were vehicles parked in front of it; I wouldn't trust my car sitting there. I'd be afraid I'd return to something resembling a scene out of The Wizard of Oz, my Mazda's shriveled up legs sticking out from under what was left of Dorothy's house.

This day. This day had nothing inherently wrong with it on the surface, and yet, somehow, it really seemed to blow.

I told Peezy he was "one of my favorites." He is. He continues to prove the theory that everyone that I feel a strong connection to is insane. Apologies to those friends of mine who, until you read this, didn't know that you were insane. Trust me; you are.

I put in my application at Tela Ropa. I feel a little iffy about the people I listed as my references. I just picked the people whose numbers I had in my cell phone who I'd known for the longest amount of time, but somehow I just have visions of ... well, I don't know of what, but it ain't sugarplums, I can tell you that much. Also, I didn't get a really great vibe from the manager, which is a shame because I could really use this fucking job. I don't know. It may just be my mood du jour that's making me sound so surly. I don't even know what the fuck I'm talking about.