Dear Diary in Headlights…

This is where I post blogs:

http://blog.myspace.com/insertyournamehere

Anything else is nothing but deceit and lies and not to be trusted.*

Love, Job

*Excluding this post.

I just crawled out of bed with that taste in my mouth we spend all say getting away from. The time between now and my first cup of tea is hell. I distract myself by reading news about irate Tories and smug Tonys and annoy myself with a big, wooden spoon.

I have to keep a big, wooden spoon with me now as I write this. I call it my “tea spoon”. If I don’t maintain contact with it, the memory of tea water coming to a boil three rooms away will fade into vapor like the bubbling water and eventually leave me with the bone-dry heat of shame and frustration of forgotten, forsaken kettles of emptiness.

I hate forsaken kettles of emptiness.

The “tea spoon” reminds me, “Hey, don’t forget you have water cookin’” and also reinforces any feelings of idiocy that success may fool me into freeing.

Well, it should be ready by now. And after a nice cuppa, I can finally take a shower so I don’t have to drag this huge shower curtain around on my pinky to remind me what to do after tea.

Good morning!

Did I say dead? I meant “eating linguine”. Sometimes I get the two confused. It’s why, when sitting down for eats at any given Italian restaurant, I’ll sometimes start wailing & plea-bargaining with God.

You can imagine how embarrassing this is. To say nothing of the fact that I’m highly allergic to spumoni. When I eat it, my face swells & turns magenta & I have seizures which may sound cute but really, when the foamy-white saliva starts spewing from my jowls all over my dinner date, well, it loses its charm - fast.

It’s a problem. I really should stop ordering it after every meal. But I mean, spumoni! YUM!