The Sacred Princess Hippie

This is the color of blood--mine. It will be shed on this electronic machine til there is no more and it (me) dies. Well, I've done it a thousand times before, so once more won't kill me (ha ha.) I foolishly thought that once, someone actually loved me. But I found I was a follow up (Booby prize, as one may think of it,) to the truest love--THE SACRED PRINCESS HIPPIE. Who can compete with that? Not I, thought the silent Oracle of Delphi. AAhhhhh, this is a bunch of shit, really, and I hope you're all laughing right along with me. I have not known received love in 20 years, and that really doesn't bother me. What does bother me, is the lack of affection--and the overabundance of lies. When I kicked my ex out of my room and tossed him upstairs, I began to take myself back. Something, however, was lacking. I did not know what it was until the day Attycatty snuggled her warm, furry self oh so close beside me as I was ready to sleep that night. She touched me, and I mean she stretched out an arm and laid her paw on my wrist as if to say, "I love you. You comfort me, just by being here." Little did she know that was the first affectionate touch I'd had in twenty years. Or maybe she did. I will never be The Sacred Princess Hippie--but there is one thought I would like to leave to all you men who like a good sport when fucking and your girl (or hole) is getting FUCKED: you may need to know that a sofa bed, a fridge with a cheap gallon of wine is not all she needed. I don't even hope to find love. I just give it.

Guess who screwed up school???!!!!

So I guess this Vet Tech program I dropped out of is really a program on "How to become a Veteranarian." Because I can understand needing to know the "scapula," but can't understand why I'd ever need to know "The medical term for the RIDGE on the SCAPULA." I can just hear the conversation in the room at the Vet's--"boy, that ____ (word for ridge on scapula) isn't looking too good. Maybe we ought to take a little sandpaper and smooth that baby down." You may have guessed--that kind of info is not the knowledge I'm exactly looking for. It's hard to be a mystic in Chemistry class, even when you and no one else knows what "patina" is. Look--I'm laughing at myself. A fairly old woman trying to do a young person's career. So I'm sticking with the psychology of my seven cats. This house is run like a psych unit--group therapy, individual counseling, medication time, medication time, medication time......" (Lysine.) Wilber wants to let everyone know that he NEVER watches "Hill Street Blues," and much prefers Dexter and the Sopranos (he likes the way everyone's always saying "fuckin' this and fuckin' that.") Wilber doesn't always retire early, and Mr. Ed should know this--god, he's told him over and over that boredom will drive one either to bed or off a cliff, and bed usually is the better bet (not alway, though.) Wow, Mr. Ed, it's 11:24 PM! Gotta get to On Demand for a peek at next season's Dexter. And then to bed.