Monday, August 09, 2004
I believe the fumes from the astringent I use burned my eyes as I cleaned my greasy face this evening.
I also believe 'twas Terri who injected the theory that I must be "clinically depressed" into The Father's very unobservant head. This is, after all, the man who turned around as he filled out my Driver's Ed application to ask me my birthdate and how to spell my middle name. He's not stupid, but I wouldn't call him "the brightest bear", either.
Lindsay kidnapped me to play with her at the comic book store. As I do not read comics, particularly, she made the field trip an informative one. I left with three purchases: something entitled Strangers in Paradise (which is about a man-hating lesbian and a man-loving lesbian), another something entitled Maus (which illustrates the Holocaust using mice as the Jews and rats as the Nazis), and a third something entitled Marx For Beginners (which is just funny).
James suggested I take full advantage of my new-found depression to avoid doing anything. 'Chores, schmores,' I hear myself saying, 'The depressed do not do such things as chores.' Hee-hee.
My stepbrother, Jeremy, currently sits at the kitchen table cutting photographs of voluptuous women from some of his girly magazines for some massive collage he is concocting for entertainment purposes. I ogled at the pictures for a moment before telling him to be certain he shows his mother the completed project.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:00 PM]