. . .

You make me feel

Like un natural woman (woman)...

Testing testing testing one two apartment twelve b sir, thank you, have a pleasant Mad Slashfestday yourself, sir, jerk. Never tips well. One of these Mad Slashfestdays I'm going to pick him as my Designated Target unexpectedly, and then he'll be sorry. What's left of him, anyway. Thus far I've been picking off unwanted family members, but even the largest family gets pruned down to manageable levels after a few years, and I'm running out of unwanted targets. I would just pick no one at all, y'know. I would. But it's illegal, and besides, I kinda like the chance to vent my frustrations in a safe, sane, socially approved fashion.

I keep the ears, too. It's got tradition behind it, it's more impersonal than scalps, and less messy than some of the things people collect. Some people just have their memories, but I prefer some sort of reminder. This one, for example, was Great Aunt Elspeth. She was a wild woman in her day, so the tales go, but you couldn't tell it by her ear, couldja? This ones my ex wife. My ex ex wife, if you catch my drift. No, nothing really went wrong, we just sort of drifted apart, and evntually, y'know, the divorce. I was kind of depressed for a while, but after the catharsis, I got over it. I'm remarried now. Got two great kids. Everything's smooth. Anyway, this one's... I'm not sure who this one is. You really can't tell much from ears.

Am I boring you? Because I can stop now. I'm getting morbid. Move to another topic.

It's just the weather today. It's halfnhalf - large patches of fluffy clouds, large patches of crystal clear blue skies. I always get wistful about death on these sorts of days. If I ever started writing in some sort of serious way, I'd have to do something about my predilictions for putting blood 'n death into the most innocuous of places. Swallow your soul! Swallow your soul!

It would cut down on the excess population, though. (yeah. each year half the population would slaughter the other half. _great_ method of population control. move on, man. just let it go.)

I think it's because I don't want to be at work. Very much not. I want to be... elsewhere. Away from work elsewhere. I don't want to have to work for a living. Or at least, not here.

Hmph.

Ignore me. I'm getting maudlin. Go and reread one of my funnier emails and pretend I just wrote it or something. I'm done for now.