ramblebramble

Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer?
Never looked better, and you can't stand it.

At times I find it impossible to understand why people do the things they do, and at others I find I understand them perfectly.

All rants begin with an observation. "Haven't you noticed?" Every conversation we have is based upon universal connections. We have a mutual understanding of human nature, of love or tragedy, of frustration or simple joys. I understand as well that these words, spit out from frantic fingertips in a fishbowl, have no effect on you, the reader whom I cater to whether or not you actually exist unless you have a general idea of what I'm trying to convey.

Today the theme is connection. Or not. Perhaps the theme is chaos, but letting you in on that secret would ruin the impact of the confusion that would set in halfway through this entry when I begin to ramble about meanacing squirrels and Cubs wins (an irrational number). I think I'm just going a little crazy, but honestly, who isn't? I guess we could hope that the Germans remain sane at all times. Look out, Austria.

Yep, looks like chaos is on the ticket. Isn't it facinating how so many random things result in the sum of our lives? Playing the "what if" game can be fun, at times. What if Linda had been aborted due to a tumor that posed as a dead baby? What if I concentrated on school more? What if I never applied to work at Dairy Queen? What if I never joined speech team? So many questions, never any right answers.

I'm hungry. Taco Bell will fix this in the short term, but I think I'll need an adrenaline shot to the heart of "work ethic" to fix it for long term. I have a lot of dreams, Berlin, radio, Chicago, family, travel, concerts, but it will be very difficult for these things to come to pass if I never buckle down and do a homework assignment or two.

Ramble ramble. Three cookies to whomever made sense of this. Let me know, so I can actually bake the cookies, or at least buy them in convenient Keebler form with the money I peddle from upper middle class tools.

Panic! At the Cathi,
'Thrine.