I hate the dull subaudible of discontent. It's always so much better when it's ruptured and bleeding, thrashing and unsatiable. I suppose I could have made it that way but anytime I'm in this place it's hard to get all too passionate about anything. I guess that's because it's safe. But it is what it is. You are what you it. There are no mistakes.
Somewhere chrysanthemums are blooming from beautiful women's mouths. And remember, child, gold and rubies hurt just as much as frogs and snakes when they pass your lips.
I got a volunteer gig doing favors for the ladies at the environmental center, which should be just peachy. I'm up to about 70 applications on the federal jobs website, although I've recieved only one maybe as of yet. But there are new ones every day. Poor Bernice is wounded and probably will never brake right again but she's outside on her haunches ready to roll, to show Ali Mae the south. And if there ever was a time to wake the hell up and get back to being audible it would be six days from now.
Gainesville. Savannah. Charleston. Chattanooga. Atlanta. Auburn. Birmingham. Jackson. Natchez. Natchitoches. Baton Rouge. New Orleans. Biloxi. Mobile. Pensacola. Tallahassee.
I got my paychecks from the job that fired me in the mail today. It was hardly enough to pay for gas out of the state. But I'll take what I can get. The plans are laid and money's just paper.
I've got a lot of irons in the fire - the environmental center, the sheriff's office, grad school, the feds, and if I've been waiting for the big bang since December, I've probably been waiting too long.