Oh internet–you all know I have sung my songs before on what you were born to do and what you’ve become. I suppose that’s a line in another song I will plan to sing…but today I ran into another hallway of people not in my general circumstance, or really what I mean is people who ARE in my GENERAL circumstance, at least in regards to having the tricky body set out to get you every once in a while. I know I am pretty lucky to have survived thus far or really THIS far given I have been kinda my own lone wolf out there in the world…like NO support and then I ran down a hallway that seemed interesting and there’s like a whole world out there of not just mes, which is actually a LOT more compelling and actually comforting given if there is a next time for me…or really we all know the if would predicate that there was something survivable about the next time–BUTTTTT–if there is a next time there can be maybe a little comfort even in the words of strangers given there is like an ENTIRE POPULATION of people out there. I had to capitalize that because honestly and really—I don’t think people understand what can happen to someone’s state of mind being a dangling little thing out here screaming into the ether. WITH NOBODY answering back except every once in a while when random stumbles into your life and says hello…which is so rare these days anymore….BUT. It appears that other people have this poisoned little pipe–other people have had the stents and the repairs and other people have probably felt like their body was out to fuck them and take every pinch of hope out of their future. And some of them will probably make me feel like shit because I am a bit of a bitcher sometimes. But oh well. I am hanging myself out again, world.

SO— I am almost done with the damn dog sketch which is actually not something I want to do soon again unless say, the dog is NOT WHITE. I want a white dog, too, I love those pretty little, I mean BIG Akbashess but oh my god trying to pencil a white dog without slaughtering the spirit of the animal owner’s love…not fucking easy right now so maybe I have to practice more than the every once in a blue moon art project my family sticks on me. Oh, no worries there, as soon as this one is done, there’s just one more. Yes, shoot me. I want to do writing and clay earrings and things like…well, just not that. My only qualifier. Man if I had a few more conscious hours in the day I would be a genius. I suppose that is what is missing from the spark or lack of electricity in the non-city life here. There is no overarching electricity running things…there are probably pockets of that but not where I am. And probably NOT happening to somebody who spends the majority of most days half naked under a bathrobe. No no, don’t worry. I don’t do porn. I sell travel. I service travel. I know things about travel. So—that’s what I bring to the table, and a sometimes salty, sometimes fucked up sense of humor I have kind of toned down a bit over the years…

But yeah, the point again–so you all know I am usually staring at the clock say 4. sometimes 5, latest…I get up, I put a bath robe on, I make coffee. I get on the phone and sell and service my travel until 2:45. By then the dog is annoyed I haven’t done anything with him all day and then I walk him for 25 minutes and then we come back. By then I am semi-exhausted and though I stopped reading the news lately (oh yeah, you see they are trying to kill all the sick, right?)–well yeah, forget the news. I will wake up again when it matters. But I am utterly depressed by life so if I could sleep it kind of away, maybe that is my brain’s idea of therapy and why I am blinking at 8 pm wanting to be left to sleep. There will be no progress in a life like this so I think I need to start taking my medicine with RedBull again. Oh, I know you are horrified but–I have been on these medicines for the most part since 1995–1998 for the coumadin so..fugetaboutit–I know enough.

But I am no longer 18-19 hours a day running–reading back over like ten years ago I was good at that–in fact if I make it 14 hours conscious everyone is surprised–which is a little shocking for the city girl, but again, the pulse here is largely lacking to fuel much besides a feeling of why the hell can’t I move to California, why won’t anyone hire Don as an engineer? And because both of those things are slim to happen–I am deflated and asleep by 8. 8 O’CLOCK guys. That’s how sad I am. Hey, Universe, it’s me, Deanna again. Don is really smart and needs a VTC or telecom engineer job. I want to move to California one day or at least out of the 435 sq feet I live in. I don’t expect to own anything, don’t worry there Universe–but I want a happier life with a little more possibility. K, thanks, I’ll be waiting patiently again…clearly the Columbia loan isn’t going anywhere. Clearly the hospital will sue me or threaten to, every other year…but there has to be a freakin way man. Even getting an apartment in Elizabeth for a grand…somethinggggggggg……

Ok. No more asking. I will figure it out…this spotify store needs some products. I am having another makeup party again–GREAT MAKEUP and then there are the other things. Don and I are going to do a dinner with Ds show because we are sometimes clever. Then there’s the groucho. Hey wouldn’t it be SO GREAT if I could stay up later than 8? ARGH!!!