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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

sex with Nick Stahl

Still don't know what love means...
It's been a long, sleepless week. I've spent a lot of time with documentaries. And still no exciting topics for discussion at this crazy place.
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Instead, I wonder the rooms, doing little things. Puttering, I used to call it. My cat, Beebs, watches me from her perch. Eyes like darts, sometimes.
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And I'm constantly tripping over the dogs. They lay right behind me wherever I'm standing. Buckley is the worst offender.
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I want things to be sharp looking. Comfortable.
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My sister was here the other day. She said, "You're the only person I know who can have nothing, and still make a mess..."
Observant, she is. My counter is cluttered with my camera case, the modem for the phone, the box the modem came in, and a lone pepsi can. I can't not have a mess somewhere in my house. It would be weird. I have to know that *I* live there. And putting out little candles or hanging up pretty things, doesn't do it for me.

My bangs are really short. Shorter than the usual Bettie Paige look I used to go for. Like I said, it's Vulcan-time!

I was thinking about Vancouver's downtown eastside. Drug addicts being described as non-people. The lost, the un-found people that wander those streets, forgotten and shunned by the rest of us. I almost wish I lived there so I could volunteer for needle exchange or something. It's almost funny how out of the ashes of the former Me...my social justice training has come back stronger than ever. I'm planning on volunteering at a couple of shelters here in town, and am scoping out to see what else I can do.

Jumping to a completely different topic, I never get to have sex dreams. I don't know why. And if I do, they are completely weird, like my being attractive to a mushroom or something stupid like that. And even that has been curtailed by my sex drive having done a runner sometime last year. But last night. Last night was a very welcome change to an otherwise very boring dream state the past few months. I got to have sex with Nick Stahl.

I picked up a little crush on him when plowing through the last season of Carnivale. It was probably a mix of the bible-reading, prison breakout, dirty and dusty kind of character that appealed to me. I have no idea. In any case. I actually had sex in a dream. It was lovely. In the woods. Or a woody area. I think he was the Bully. Which is sad..because I didn't really care for that character. Ick.

I have not actually had sex or in fact, ever met Nick Stahl. I'm sure the search engines are going to have a field day with this topic matter. While I'm sure he's a completely acceptable partner, it's most definitely highly unlikely to ever happen. Now where did I put the Carnivale dvd...?

Jolene - Ray Lamontagne

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