12.15.04: Now, Where Was I? ‹ Blog

Can we actually “know” the universe? My God, it’s hard enough finding your way around in Chinatown.
Woody Allen, Getting Even

Now, Where Was I?

12.15.04

Well, hello again! I’m really sorry that I haven’t been writing in this—wait a minute, why am I apologizing? It’s my journal. I can write in it whenever the hell I want. And you’ll just have to deal, you worthless peons you. YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME. Remember that.

Arrogant snarking aside, I do have several nearly-finished back entries to post. For some reason, I have been unable to finish my entries of late; it’s a kind of commitment-phobia, I think. But I will give myself a kick in the ass and finish them, and then you will be able to read all about the wonderful time I have been having. (Oh, wait… no, I’m thinking of a past life. The past few months of this lifetime have been pretty damn dull.)

Since I am having my usual difficulty formulating a coherent thought stream, I’ll just mutter about random things for awhile...

The other night, I had a VERY vivid dream involving a double-agent pet blue jay, the manager of my old apartment complex, and an emperor penguin who was trying to take over the world and extract revenge for global warming. The night before that, I had a dream in which I was going from room to room in a large maze-like house; in each room was a person and a set of weapons, and I had to fight that person and kill them before I could go on to the next room. Then I woke up and heard the ghost poking around in the bedspring. Weird.
One of the local technical colleges has, among other bad commercials, a commercial about “finding an exciting new career.” The exciting new career they suggest? Pharmacy Technician. I’ve been a pharmacy technician, and it’s about as exciting as soap. Counting pills, woohoo! Putting labels on bottles, yay! Alphabetizing prescriptions, whee! (Except, of course, when some drug-addled schlub pulls a gun on you at the counter and demands Oxycontin. Never happened during my shifts, but it did happen at my workplace a couple of times.)
I know my life is pathetic, but whoever tells me “at least you have your health” is going to be decked, because between the recurring toothaches, the chronic throbbing headache, and the lump I just now found in my breast, I am not feeling all that damn healthy right now. The first two things can probably be put down to sinitis, and the third one’s probably not anything to freak out about, but STILL. All those healthy childhood years are coming back to haunt me; I’m getting sick with everything all at once.
OH MY GOD, WE MUST SAVE THE PENGUINS. Seriously. Imagine a world without penguins. It just breaks my heart. (And maybe the penguins will rise up and take over the world and punish us all for global warming! Oh, my prophetic soul!)
Okay kids, now it’s time for Romy to rant about the verdict in the Peterson case. Now, Scott Peterson pisses me off as much as the next person—he’s a slimy, two-timing shit salesman with a definite touch of psychotic callousness. I agree that he’s almost certainly guilty of murdering his wife and unborn child, just based on his behavior, but—and whenever I say this, people look at me funny because this is just so out-of-character for me—I disagree with the death penalty recommendation. Because you know what? You cannot sentence someone to death just because he acts like a creep. You need physical evidence, and there wasn’t a whole lot to tie Peterson to the murder. So what if Scott Peterson is executed—and then, a few years later, some hard evidence turns up that exonerates him? Too late to do anything about it, and three people would have died needlessly. Lock the man up, put him in solitary, let him spend the rest of his life behind bars—after all, it’s not as if he’s a serial killer who murders for fun; this crime was spurred by certain circumstances that will probably never occur in his life again. As a taxpayer, I’d sure as hell rather pay for his living expenses in jail.

And that’s about it—for now, anyway. Stay tuned to this channel for more exciting updates and rambling entries, and remember—hang on, what was it I was going to tell you to remember? I forget. Oh well. Have a nice day, and don’t eat the daisies!