truth: it's just going good.

update to anyone curious about my new job, here is what i am learning:
having a great time.  also, having my new boss speak to the trials of women (particularly young ones) in the industry on my first day of employment and assuring me that our office is one where i need not be concerned about harassment was a welcome change to some past experiences i've had where, for example, my boss pulls me aside and asks me if i'm a virgin.  also on day 1: i was greeted by a massive My Little Pony wallpapered 2-screen desktop and awarded a grow-your-own-dinosaur.  as stated, it's just going good.  granted, i've only worked 2 days and i'm still in training, but i have a rare case of the optimisms. 

other hot news: celebrating 365 days of romance and turbulence with ryankitten this weekend, northern minnesota cabin-style.  i am pumped.  i had wanted to order and sell shirts reading RYAN + RACHEL = ONE YEAR or R&R:1YR  or simply mewmew: 365 & Counting, but kitten thought that it was a bad idea because it's just too public.  i can respect that, however, i think that 1 year is a cause worthy of support (and funding, if anyone is interested, i take cash or check or drinks).  again, it's just going good.

last hot news: moving to st. paul within the next 2 weeks.  loading up on kitchenware, used furniture, weird shit, and big ideas for DIY home decorating.  ready for a new neighborhood, specifically one that includes some of my favorite bars and people.  people and bars.  extremely terrified about no longer sleeping with silverback everynight.  i love the way she snores, wakes me at 2 AM to go outside and look for toads, and occupies 3/4 of the full size bed.  no pets allowed in the new apartment, which is why i'm working on this little number:

silverback.  to be framed above my bed.


truth: never enough paper

beep bop bop boop.  yesterday my brakes stopped working in the left-most lane on the freeway during rush hour 20 miles from home.  i docked at the shoulder and flashed my hazards for a while, called my parents and boyfriend and told them all that i just love them and promised everybody that i would stay at the side of the road and wait for help.  and then all these cars kept driving past me, making me feel bad and anxious and jealous, and so i drove home without brakes and it was such a thrill.  when i got home, dad finally decided that his 24 year-old daughter was ready to know some things about cars and we popped the hood together, at last.  and now i know a few things, but i still need to find money to have my piece of shit car repaired.  again.

and i was offered a job yesterday morning.  it is a real job.  it is not a minimum wage, smile-and-shake-the-tip-jar, greasy apron job.  it is for adults, like me, who need some serious cheddar.  i am going to take it because no one knows what's going on and i might as well say "yes" to the whole production.  i am talking about the biggest picture.  i am going to write about exquisite and mediocre pieces of furniture in exchange for paychecks.  i am going to move to NE minneapolis with my good, nice friend.  i am going to reattempt the GRE, continue to stitch cigarette boxes into the shape of a dress, and dedicate my income to student loans and my 1999 Buick Regal, who i have decided to rename Rickety Cricket.

i went to lewisburg, pennsylvania for a week.  it is the home of my professor/mentor/friend/homegirl who i had not seen since 2009.  i had my first dunkin donuts donut.  i had my first pedicure.  i also had my first experience being gawked at by a woman - a female store owner who talked about my legs at length and made me feel like a meatstick.  i think that people in pennsylvania are not used to seeing legs or maybe body parts in general.  at the philadelphia airport, a 60-something year old man crossed the food court to tell me that he liked my stockings.  maybe they just knew that i was a foreigner and wanted me to know that they knew.  as far as minnesota is concerned, i don't even have legs.  i once dropped my pants in the middle of the woods, mid-run, to correct a wedgie.  at that precise moment, an Elderly Gentleman dressed all in white, riding bareback on a White Stallion rounded the corner and saw all of my southern belle and did not even blink when i stated that i was lost and asked for directions.  it may be that minnesotans are conditioned to go cross-eyed in the presence of nakedness because it's rude to stare.  sexuality repressed edenward.  i had a very nice time in PA and i can't wait to be able to travel without my bank account buckling under.

it is the last major piece of news: i am seeing dwayne michael carter jr. aka weezy aka lil wayne aka weezy f baby at the excel center tonight.  he joined cash money records when he was 9 years old.  guess what?  wikiwayne says: At age 13, he accidentally shot himself with a 9 mm handgun, and off-duty police officer Robert Hoobler drove him to the hospital.  also, he has 4 kids.  i do not belong at the excel center, or anyplace, and my sister (who won the tickets for us) has been preparing her face and hair and outfit for over an hour already.  so i have to take a shower and put powders and cremes on my face and put my stockings on because tonight i am a popstarstruck teenybop and no one can stop me.

bless you, robert hoobler


Ode to Silverback 4

Ode to Silverback


Sand-flapping and gill-gasped,
Body like a serving: a slice of bread,
Wet on the beach.
Life and death at odds with the summer sun beating.
And Silverback, stanced and ready there
for the verdict, unsure of where to focus:
On the fish themselves, or on the now-empty net
glistening overhead.

I push her out to sea on a synthetic shade of blue.
A foam mat, cresting the depth,
something like seven feet of fish water.
Tethered to the dock, she is my seaward landrover.
Where she floats is where my home is,
I'll fall asleep every night pulling sand and seaweed loose from her coat.


truth: excuse me, she's the cutest baby i know

I bring a spare pair of shoes because she likes to wear mine over hers.

I gave her a mohawk this morning.

She is pretending that a Frosted Mini Wheat is her cell phone.


graphics: 2 / truth: better days

the jobbie interview went so nice.  i wore my monroe and i told them that i sew dresses out of cigarette boxes in my spare time and i told them that i am a professional trampolinist NOT and that i prefer malbecs to pinots.  we talked about figs and new zealand and management strategies, and the only lie that i told them was when they asked about my tattoo and i said it symbolized my boyfriend (rather than saying ex-boyfriend) to avoid sympathy-hire.  and now i have been scheduled for a final interview with the founder of the company and then i'm in business. 

also, kitten did an apology about 6 hours after my interview and we had a fix-it and now we are having phase 2 of our relationship, so my lie became a truth; therefore, i still cannot tell a lie.  and here is another thing: phase 1 ended in me cryingcryingcrying and then realizing that i have the best family and friends and professors and puppies in the world.  everyone who supported me gets 100 roses just as soon as i win the raffle - which, obviously, i did not win, though i did win a bouquet of sympathy daisies, candied nuts (unfortunately i had zero appetite), and a card signed by the intern staff at 101.3 KDWB.  i even received support from some very nice completestrangers one day while walking around st. paul on selby, giving high-5s to everyone i saw.  one completestranger held my hand when i 5'd him and asked me my name and how i was doing.  i said i was rachel and sad and that i was on my way to eat some pizza.   so i love everybody.  i even love the jehovah's witnesses who came to my door the other day, dustin-john-and-remy, for telling me that the world is beautiful and that beauty is not an accident.  thanks for the reading material, guys. 


graphics: 3 / truth: shit


i had 2 whole interactions with my dad.  the first was presenting him with the options: sandwich, eggs, or pasta, to which he responded, "have you seen my rifle?  i had it last night, can't find it anywhere, it's about 3 feet long."  the second was when i slugged him in the arm and said, "that's for taking my boyfriend's side," to which he responded, "you were testing him," to which i responded, "bullshit."  for the record, i was not testing him.  tests are for pupils.


i am single for good.  i got the dump last night and didn't get 1 wink, cried on my dog, contracted a decent sized migraine, decided to go for a run at 4:45 in the morning,  then went to nanny for my tinyfriend.  again, she was mistaken to be my baby while we were playing at the park, and i was informed that she is the most beautiful girl in the world and that i am truly blessed.  strangers say nice things with the expectation of affirmation, and tinyfriend is beautiful, so i said "thank you" and did a lie (!!! job-getting practice !!!) and pretended to be truly blessed (when in reality, i was a perfectly contained wreck fueled by caffeine and impeccable repression, rocking a toddler in a purple plastic car-on-a-spring while yelling "JUST LIKE A REAL CAR, JUST LIKE A REAL CAR!" ).  i got home and chopped off my hair (silverback watched) and threw away things that made me cry and snuggled with silverback and stormfellow and told them that i simply love them and that i cherish their support.  and then i booked my ticket to PA, flying in 17 days, to see my all-time maximum badass mentor (who i have not seen since 2009).

job interview tomorrow.  i thought about it, and i'm not going to lie.  i'm not even going to take my facial piercing out.  take me or leave me unemployed.


Ode to Silverback (1, 2 & 3)

Ode to Silverback


She came shaking wet,
having fallen between boat and dock
and resisted the blanket –
Would not lay in the sun
because she loves the cool thick of it,
ears slicked back, nose forward.

Three life jackets buckled as one
form a silvercraft on open water.
She stands there, tense and staring
through the surface into the lake,
waiting for a flash of scale.

And later, after my father baits the hook,
I reel in a few fishes.
She yips and jumps, all stomach,
while Stormfellow waits patiently on the beach.


She’s growing a skin tag.
I’ve watched it swell and change.
It’s bright pink now,
looking like a tiny balloon.
Silverback is the life of the party.


Named by the wind and trees
as two-toned, four-pawed and silverhearted,
she bounds and dances like spring in the leaves:
           Each breath, rises and falls like a season

Eternal puppy, she is all of us.
She is all of us when she sniffs the grass.
She is all of us when she gives chase to a squirrel.
She is all of us when her mouth hangs open to whatever
might happen next.

Somedays, I stare into her dark eyes
and I imagine that she hears my thoughts,
and then she yawns
or just stares back at me, insouciant
because I shouldn’t be thinking about thoughts
when there are fish in the lake
and treats in the pantry
and mailboxes lining the street.


graphics: 2 / truth: i can't tell a lie

it has recently come to my consciousness that the reason i am so good at scoring interviews and so bad at sealing deals is that i cannot tell a lie to save my life.  the most recent no-hire interview was with whole foods, a cashier position which i am overqualified for and would rock at since i'm into almond milk and kale and figs and medjool dates.  because i did not "plan on pursuing a life-long career" with whole foods, i was not offered a spot.  in fact, i don't plan on pursuing anything, period.  i don't plan.  i go with the flow and i'm incredibly committed to everything i take on.  but i refuse to make plans.  and i can't tell lies.  and so that is exactly what i will tell the nice woman interviewing me tomorrow morning if and when she asks me what my greatest weakness is.  i hate that interview question.  i don't find it relevant, since my greatest weaknesses do not interfere with my work.  i'm under review for a few positions, and i'm nannying my tinyfriend in the meantime, but i'm beginning to get very worried (since with the state shutdown, i can no longer see my dear, sweAt therapist* - - and i could potentially lose my state health care which would leave me unable to afford the medication that keeps my head on straight).

earlier this week, i entered myself into a raffle to win 1,000 roses.  results this weekend.  i've spent all my spare time thinking up different things that i could do with 1,000 roses.  the last time i entered a raffle, i was in decorah iowa and i was trying to win a motorcycle.  i bet i'd give all of the roses to my boyfriend's mother.  or i'd schedule a photo shoot for me and silverback.  or i'd divide them into bouquets to send anonymously to every person who has ever made my day.  or i'd send them to bill murray because i've been trying to get in touch with him for years.  or i'd put all of them on one grave.  while i was at the florist's, i read about rose meanings and learned that my favorite roses are coral-colored or yellow.  coral means desire.  yellow means welcome back.

*a sweAt therapist is a therapist who is sweetest when his or her client is at their sweatiest (i.e. at their most furiously anxious and maniacal).  the sweAt therapist is NOT sweet like a nice person; he or she is sweet like a person who is has mastered the balance between logic and compassion.  a sweAt therapist may also be a therapist who treats a client who suffers from hyperhydrosis  (like me), coaching him or her on how to understand and cope with their unusual physical condition.


oooh, oooh: jonathan zawada

"Alice and Bob" (2009)

"Notes Vs Tokes" (2010)

"Trust Fun"
"Isaac 32" (2009)

zawada gets a post all his own for uniting my favorite disney animated movie and my favorite lynch directed soap in a venn diagram.  i don't care why he did it.  if you pulled that 8-bit key from the center of "Alice and Bob," i bet you could open my brain with it and i bet you'd find a whole peanut butter sandwich in there.  MORE JONATHAN ZAWADA


on charles wright's Littlefoot

Littlefoot by charles wright: a poem in 35 parts, as a novel in chapters.  a man reflects on his life as reflected in the landscapes surrounding him.  consciousness merges with nature and the history of a life becomes a collage of moonlight, windtorn blades of grass, ravens in flight, feathers, dead branches, ashen clouds, and the way the light falls upon a deer's back.  written beautifully, soft and reflective, but also sad in its remoteness.  meditatively pacifying, the poem casts a holiness over every perceivable moment.  nature imagery is coupled with commentary on memory, love, life, death, art, poetry, knowledge and faith.  Littlefoot suggests to me a metaphysics directed by the natural world, offering a path between the abstract and the concrete.

some favorites:

"We're not here a lot longer than we are here, for sure. / Unlike coal, for instance, or star clots. / Or so we think. / And thus it behooves us all to windrow affection, and spare, / And not be negligent. / So that our hearts end up like diamonds, and not roots. / So that our disregard evaporates / as a part of speech." (part 1, p. 4)

"Fame for a hundred years / is merely an afterlife, / And no friend of ours. / Better to watch the rain fall in the branches of winter trees. / Better to have your mail sent / To someone else in another town, / where frost is whiter than moonlight." (part 14, p. 29)

"Deer huddle like cattle around the salt block, / then burst like flames in the air. / The white clouds slide from the south / Like an edge of ice. / The swallows harangue and arabesque / Over the lawn and lilac rim of the late lilacs, / Then dwindle against the dark green of the evergreens. / Last bird call, sun disappearing / under the right edge of things. / All that I know goes with it, / Isolate, like a body pulled down by weights / into the depths." (part 20, p. 45)

"The little engines of change at work / Unexpectedly in the atmosphere / as well as our lives, / The dragging, black-bellied clouds / That enter our blood from the wrong side of the compass, / The double-clutch of wind-shift / Into off-limits and unappeasable places / Is coming our way soon, / and slow-dropped out of the blue. / One sees it and feels it at the same time, / noiselessly" (part 28, p. 66)

part 35 closes the poem by asking: "Will you miss me, will you miss me, / Will you miss me, / Will you miss me when I'm gone?" addressing the reader pleadingly.  the format changes, the rhyme scheme changes, and it reads as a dying man's last words - a love letter to the world as he knew it, simple and true.  in fact, part 35 strikes me as a paraphrase of parts 1-34 - an overt sentimentalism that did not need stating.  unless wright meant to highlight the conflict between subjective perception and its communicative counterpart (and perhaps he did?), i don't feel that part 35 is necessary to the poem as a whole.  or it may be that i prefer wright's nuanced imagery so strongly that i cannot appreciate the simple, elegiac style that he closes with.  anyway: a beautiful poem and my first experience of wright.


video: kickin it with my tinyfriend

at 6:30 in the morning, while you are sleeping, me and my tinyfriend are tearing it up like truly bad motherfuckers.


on tzvetan todorov's Torture and The War on Terror (2009)

Tzvetan Todorov - Franco-Bulgarian philosopher (1939 - )

"Torture and the War on Terror" is an essay published in 2009 featuring photography by Ryan Lobo.  I realize that for some, reading this now may seem late, no longer relevant; it is as Hegel said: "One more word about giving instruction as to what the world ought to be. Philosophy in any case always comes on the scene too late to give it... When philosophy paints its gray in gray, then has a shape of life grown old. By philosophy's gray in gray it cannot be rejuvenated but only understood. The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk."  It is important to analyze and understand our present history.

That said, the essay is brief, and an interesting observance of the rhetoric shifts that took place during Bush's presidency.  First, there is the obviously problematic terminology of a "War on Terror" and "Terrorists" as the enemy: a metaphorical war waged against a generic term that can be applied to any person whose actions and beliefs are not state-sanctioned.  There is no universally agreed upon, legally binding definition of terrorism.  How can a war exist when the enemy is undefined and the battlefield is an abstraction?  I do not think that it is an overstatement to call our conduct a recipe for genocide.  The conclusions drawn by Todorov's in this essay terrified me in their accuracy.  Some illuminating facts:

  • In 2006, only 1 out of a 1,000 person staff in the American Embassy in Baghdad spoke Arabic fluently.  Despite this, American soldiers formed the impression that Iraqis only understood the language of force.
  • Recipients of violence typically respond with acts of greater violence - During the Sétif demonstration in Algeria (1945), over 100 French were massacred.  In response, between 1,500 and 45,000 Algerians (depending on the source) were killed.  9/11 caused the death of 3,000 Americans.  By 2007, the war on Iraq had taken the lives of between 60,000 and 600,000 Iraqis (again, depending on the source).  This is not justice.
  • The 'Torture Memo' (2002) submitted by the US Dept. of Justice's Office of Legal Counsel cited legal reasons defending the practice of torture.  We simply redefined torture to be not what we were doing, defining torture instead by its long term effects (which of course cannot be proven prior to the tortuous act, thereby allowing acts of torture to continue).
  • "In prisons scattered throughout countries outside the US, detainees have been regularly raped, hung from hooks, immersed in water, burned, attached to electrodes, deprived of food, water or medicine, attacked by dogs, and beaten until their bones are broken.  On military bases or on US territory, they have been subjected to sensory deprivation and other violent sensory treatments... None of these methods cause 'the impairment of bodily function' but they are known to cause the rapid destruction of personal identity" (Todorov, 34 and 37).
  • the US government invented a new legal category of 'illegal enemy combatants' to establish "terrorists" as criminals protected neither by habeas corpus nor as enemy soldiers treated according to international conventions.
Todorov attests that international relations seem governed less by the idea that 'the end justifies the means' than by the fact that 'the means outweigh the ends,' and that ideas and principles have an underestimated and untapped (in times of war) formidable power.  Is the proposal that we switch our strategy from military strength to adherence to internationally recognized human rights standards and minimal calculated risks naive?  Another question, raised by Todorov, is whether the consequence is worth it - in other words, is legalized terrorism justified by victory?

Also - I was horrified to discover that all of Lobo's photographs featured in the essay were taken at the prison located 9 miles from my house.  They are photographs of male offenders classified as "maximum custody" or "extreme risks to the public."  None of them are terrorism suspects. 


truth: she doesn't know me

here are the words that i have taught baby eva (who i nanny) to say:
  1. ceiling
  2. please
  3. thank you
  4. meow
  5. stretch
  6. all done
  7. hey baby
  8. star
please note word #4, as suggested by the bold font.  "meow" is a sound.  kittens make it.

now, please look at the roseart toy that i recently colored with markers:

now look at my weekly planner:

now look at my cup:

now look at the tattoo on my finger:


She doesn't know me.


it is a diary about unemployment, eggs, deerbabe & donald

 today, it is a diary by number.

1) unemployment log = great idea.  i think i will use my boyfriend as a subject unless i decide to recruit others.  i want to document a period of unemployment, especially of someone highly qualified.  i can create an absurdist documentary without tinkering with my environment in the slightest.  how dope is that.  i interviewed for 2 jobs today, one of which is being paid to locate jobs for other people.  that's absurd too, because if i don't get the position, i'll probably be a client of theirs.  i quit the cafe, thank christ, and my internship ends after this week, so then i'll have all time and no money (ideal circumstances for producing low-end documentaries).

2) my eggs were rejected, so i don't see how i can possibly get a real job.  donating my eggs was my Z Plan.  what's wrong with my eggs?  anyway, i'd rather not even think about my eggs so i guess it's good that there is already a proper abundance of superior eggs in the bank for wombs in need.  i can go back to pretending that mine don't exist.

3) baby deer = i found it on the side of the road and i brought it to the thicket and went home to make it a snack.  i wasted all kinds of time figuring out what number to call to report its coordinates and by the time i came back with a dish full of golden raisins and sunflower nuts, it was gone.  so i ate the deersnack on the drive home and thought about what could have been.  i guess it's illegal to keep babydeer as pets, even though i think they'd like living with me.  i like the way their bodies fold like lawn chairs when they need to have a seat.  and guess what?  fur so soft.

4) gambino = still no word from The Child in regards to operation autograph swap.  still real bummed that i can't go.  i'm planning to prepare my autograph anyway in hopes that my babysister can wiggle her way to the stage and take care of that whole business.


5) tomorrow = i turn 24 years old.  not much else changes.  i will continue to live with my parents, i will continue to apply for work, and i will continue to wonder what i'm doing.  i need to work on not laughing as a response to the inevitable interview question of, "Where do you see yourself 5 or 10 years from now?"  i did that twice today.


truth: i emailed childish gambino's press and events contacts this afternoon

dateThu, Apr 28, 2011 at 2:38 PM
subjectThis is a Modest Proposal.

To Whomever It May Concern the Most:

I'm in no position to book Gambino for anything, unless he does charity shows.  This is my tragic situation.  I purchased 2 tickets to the I AM DONALD show in Minneapolis, May 19th for my babysister and I, and have since discovered that I have to work one of my 3 part-time jobs.  I will be downtown Minneapolis seeing to it that The Advocates for Human Rights' Annual Human Rights Awards Dinner runs smoothly.  I will be dragging my feet to the beat of distant, probably imagined, reverberations coming from the Varsity Theater. 

I have a proposal.  I am hoping that Donald might be interested in trading autographs with me, or meeting for a drink and a handshake post-show.  My autograph is not worth much right now, it'd be more of a blind investment or an ironic wall ornament or a funny thing to give to a friend for their birthday as though it were important.  Donald could sign a milk carton or a candy wrapper or a band-aid and I bet I'd think it was really special and I'd put it in a float frame and I'd never let anybody look at it unless they had earned my highest respect.  If this proposal seems like one that you think he would go for, please reply so that I can prepare my autograph.  I'm thinking that the simple strategy would be for him to call "Liddle Slice aka Glittertits" to the stage on May 19th, at which point my babysister will make the transaction in high fashion.

Apologies for an abnormal proposal.  If nothing else, it gave you a BREAK.

So sincerely,


on italo svevo's zeno's conscience

Zeno's Conscience by Italo Svevo (1861-1928): A satirical critique of Freudian psychoanalysis.  A novel about a man who inherits his father's business and who is a well-intentioned liar and a self-interested hypochondriac, chronically smoking "L.C.s" (last cigarette) and fantasizing about - sometimes chasing after - youthful, "healthy" women who are not his wife.  The novel is written as Zeno's reflection on certain endeavors in his life and as a counter assessment of his psychoanalyst's conclusion that he suffers from an Oedipal Complex.

so good.  the novel moves through a series of foolish acts and hindsight and compromised ideals.  zeno's character writes about his life in his old age and focuses primarily on 2 questions: 1) whether or not he can achieve health, and 2) whether or not he is a good person.  he is plagued by sharp pains that cause him to limp and he collects and abuses prescriptions, diagnosed with a new ailment each month.  he lies to everyone he meets, cheats on his wife, gambles, neglects his children.  blah, blah, whatever.  the great part is that finally zeno concludes that the questions of health and goodness are frivolous and that mankind is the sickest species in that he has become consumed by his preemptive prescriptive antidotes to natural circumstances that ought to be experienced, endured, and overcome.  the implied critique of western medicine (and especially psychoanalysis) is fairly obvious, but the critique of our ethics is more subtle and INTERESTING.  zeno concludes that we are not anything, we are neither good nor bad, nor are we anything else.  rather, goodness is a guiding light that occasionally illuminates our thoughts and actions - it fades and flickers in accord with nature and convenience, yet we attribute its presence to our character.  oh, oh, oh, i just love this shit.

Leon Neyfakh, The Boston Globe

Peter R. Breggin, M.D., Huffington Post

and i have to include a few badass excerpts from zeno's conscience:  

I forgive the Doctor for seeing life itself as a manifestation of sickness.  Life does resemble sickness a bit, as it proceeds by crises and lyses, and has daily improvements and setbacks.  Unlike other sicknesses, life is always fatal.  It doesn't tolerate therapies.  It would be like stopping holes that we have in our bodies, believing them wounds.  We would die of strangulation in the moment we were treated.  (p. 435)

When the swallow learned that for her no other life was possible except migration, she strengthened the muscle that moves her wings, and it then became the most substantial part of her organism... But bespectacled man, on the contrary, invents devices outside his body... Devices are bought, sold, and stolen, and man becomes increasingly shrewd and weaker.  His first devices seem extensions of his arm and could not be effective without its strength; but, by now, the device no longer has any relation to the limb.  And it is the device that creates sickness, abandoning the law that was, on all earth, the creator.  The law of the strongest vanished and we lost healthful selection.  (p. 436)


(sk)etches: 3 / truth: jected and rejected and jected again

i am in search of work.  i was 'jected by eagle rock school and professional development center.  i was 'jected by the multi-billionaires who interviewed me as a potential world traveling nanny.  and this week, i am likely to be rejected by the advocates for the full time position i interviewed for last week.  i was feeling pretty blue about all the 'jections and so i applied to donate my egg to infertile adults.  i decided that if i get rejected by the reproductive medicine center, i might as well stop trying for anything at all.

legit blog entry to come soon.  i finished reading zeno's conscience by italo svevo - so, so good - and i've started charles wright's littlefoot.