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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.

a general sort of update

I am not leaving this desk until I update my journal. That means no cigarettes, no coffee refills and definitely no eating of the nasty, bad chocolate eggs that someone has left in a tidy green bowl on the filing cabinet in the hallway. They are clearly for only the mad people, and I don’t qualify. Yet.

The tailpipe on my car is just about dragging on the ground, I haven’t changed the oil in my car which should have been done about 2000 kms ago and I keep forgetting to call my sister back about seeing my nephew this week.

However, I did buy car insurance this morning and managed to blow dry my hair without electrocuting myself with the hair dryer. Kitchen is still a mess, and the bathroom kind of scares me, but…all in all, it’s going to be ok. And I was only 1.5 hours late for work.

And I’m still eating sugar. Which could be seen as a failure or (as I see it) an unconscious decision to continue on with my unhealthy lifestyle. Despite the fact there are two heads of lettuce and numerous bottles of un opened salad dressing in the ice box. Yes, you read that right. I am now calling it an ice box.

Had a quick conversation with Craig this morning, I feel like my head is on straight now. I love talking to him. I really ought to start paying him for my whine services.

Rose and I walked our dogs in the park the other day. Apparently, it's supposed to snow here tomorrow morning, but the past few days have been really warm (where I sweat like a pig if I do more than swing my arms while walking outside) kind of weather. Anyhow, we walked the dogs in the park, where I looked like a bad, non caring sort of dog mommie, and Rose looked like the perfect english nanny kind of mommie. Her dogs were heeling, listening to her commands and following her lead. Meanwhile, Buckley was clawing at the ground and barking himself hoarse as soon as our feet hit the ground.

And he still only weighs about 9 pounds. Rose's dogs are rottwheilers (yes, I am aware I probably spelled that wrong. And used the word 'spelled') who are pushing 100 pounds each. So I guess I should be glad that my little dog is being the jerk, and not her big gigantic dogs. I think I told her I wanted to do this once a week with the dogs.

I must have been nuts. Anyhow, I should get going. They do expect me to work around here, not update my journal and leave cutesy messages for my friends on Myspace.


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