In response to Jaclyn, Kelly R. is twenty-one years old and I work with her at the pet store.

Also, my closet is where I sleep. I know this does not necessarily preclude it from also being a trap of some kind, but my history with that sort of thing is not good. Ask my mother; she still has pictures of the time I was trying to catch a pigeon with some string, a stick, and a cardboard box. It took me three hours to chew my way out from under that box. I was the laughingstock of the local birds and aviary circles for years.

Years.

I have returned the game that Kelly R. lent me. Farewell, Kindom Hearts. I'm sorry, but your loveable cast of Disney and Square characters are going to have your hearts stolen by the evil shadow minions known as The Heartless (after which I presume they'll change their name to something like "The Got Yer Heart Interpretive Dance Troupe.)

So my nights are still late but mostly due to comic books. Mostly.

I also picked up the new Imogen Heap album. Me and the former Heartless are going to choreograph the entire album. This way, everybody wins. If all goes well, we could be opening up for Celine Dion's "A New Day" show in Las Vegas.

Cross your darkness-twisted cheliped-like appendages that serve as fingers!

Quote of the day goes to my brother, Mulk:

Okay, so I decided that our family's Empire shall be based on a company that sells apple pies to whales. They'll be beaching themselves in no time for the delicious flavor of home cooked Lopez yummynessnes..

I see no flaws in that plan. Especially if the secret ingredient is military sonar.

Emma has given me a homework assignment. She has excellent timing. The assignment is simple. At least, it shouldn't be too complicated. No more than I make it, I suppose.

She instructed me to write something every day. As I said, her timing is excellent because I have been drifting off into what I call the "Nother Place." It's not a bad place, there's a lot of YouTube, Kingdom Hearts, I never have to do any laundry, and there is certainly no homework.

It's not a bad place.

Dana P. celebrated her birthday today. We went to Four Peaks (one of my favorite places) and a rambunctious good time was had by all. I made her a birthday card because I am poor (well, American-poor not like East Timor-poor) and I wrote her a poem that Dana gave me permission to share. So here it is:

Dana! Dana! She's the greatest
She loves joy; she's not a sadist

If you fall down
she'll pick you up
She'll sing your song
she'll fill your cup
If you get lost
she'll find your place
She will not kick you
in the face

Dana! Dana! She's the best
She will not kick you in the face

I'm a bit rusty with rhyme and meter, but I think I expressed everything I meant to.

I wrote the poem on the back of an old chemistry exam as I was walking home from school instead of attending my chemistry class this evening. The words were bouncing around my head and I didn't want to lose them but nor did I want to stop moving. It's a good thing I don't live in a real city or I probably would have been struck by a car or bike or brisk walker with a briefcase as I walked along with my head down and brow furrowed.

Also written on the back of the chemistry test from I-don't-remember-when: "It's easy being me. I just have to decide if I want to stay me."

What? That's not related to chemistry at all.

I was having difficulty getting out of bed this morning but I'm glad I did. I now believe that the universe has a fundamental (and familiar) order to it and that I am an inextractable part of a glorious plan.

There are those that will tell you that proof negates faith. That the two are mutually exclusive. That the possibility of being wrong is what makes our choices special.

I suggest you hand those people The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and a big ol' plate of super-bacon until they too see the hilarous and delicious light.

I have discovered YouTube. Now nothing will get done. I have been whiling away the hours watching homemade music video montages of video games I've never played and cartoons I've never watched. I want to stop but...I don't want to stop.

Linkin Park, Square, and Disney: Together at last.

This is what is going on inside my head. All the time.

I'm using this one as my "Army of One" type ad for my new Zombie Killing Academy.

Remember, guns don't kill people. Guns kill zombies. Unless they're magic. Then you're probably boned.

Listening to Imogen Heap and trying to write is difficult. My first impulse becomes to write a sentence in huge letters and then write the rest of the thought in the nooks and crannies of the letters until...until...I'm not sure until what but I'm sure I'll know when it happens.

I'm not sure how to get that effect while typing. I might be able to achieve something close in my sketchbook but I've been using that as a sketchbook for my biology lab as well. I've gotten some interesting comments from my professors about my red crayon phase, but no extra points as of yet.

Shifting levels of lights, dancing off-focus orbs, and a whole lotta lens flare while the words fall to the page would also be helpful.

If you'll excuse me, I'm off to reduce my weight so I'll be able to slip into this flowing, froofy, red dress.