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fixed computer; broken heart

My computer came back from the repair shop today. That scary, always-cheerful religious zealot who works there called and sing-songed her way through telling me to come pick it up. She gives me the willies.

So now that I have the chance to sit in the quiet and calm of my living room, I will tell you more about yesterday. True, Mark and zostrianos were there to pick up the phone when I called sobbing and hysterical, but others were not so lucky. A household of friendly acquaintances of mine got a pathetic-sounding whimpering and gulpy message from me, which did not include my return phone number (and I think the only resident of the house who may have my number -- or at least know where to get it -- is out of town). Then there's H.W.S.R.N., who got a message on his parents' answering machine where I mostly screamed obscenities and cried noisily.

When I crash and burn, I like to do it with panache.

Yesterday, after all of the phone calls (not to mention the ill-advised emails) I went to beehivebuzz for coffee. Walking down E. Carson Street, I saw someone standing on a ladder painting a sign and I neither thought twice nor hesitated: I walked straight under that ladder and dared fate to come fuck with me some more. "Is that all you got? Puhleeze!"

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