i have a lot more to say, specifically about the scourge threatening diaryland, namely squirrelx, whom i won't link you to because she writes with a southern "accent" and that's just nauseating and, frankly, a universe of electrons and selfish genes aside, i'm better than that.

let me just lend my solidarity to this man, and leave it at that.

you know what your (probably unreal) conscience tells you to do.

so, true to form, over the past two days i haven't gotten nearly enough done. moving makes me depressed. certainly i'm not depressed to get out of the ominous dickhole of the world, but i am depressed about all the god damned work i have to do before i escape from the ominous dickhole of the world. i also wish i didn't have to do the work alone. i don't even necessarily mean someone to help me to do the work, i just mean someone to just hang out with me while i pack. bleh.

i just got a call from the moving company asking if there was any way they could pick up my stuff this weekend and while i could get it all packed up by then, there is no way in hell that i am sleeping on the floor for the next week. hell fucking no.

all i want to do right now is sleep. even though i slept most of the last two days. this is what happens when apprehension/laziness (which i originally typed as "leziness", but that's a different affliction altogether and not so much an affliction as a good time)/depression sets in. all i want is to sleep and smoke cigarettes. though obviously not at the same time.

the truth:

i call balls on dashboard confessional.

"into the groove(y)" by ciccone youth is nowhere as good as "candle" by sonic youth and i am pissed that my internet radio player promised "candle" but is playing "into the groove(y)".