speaking of dreams, this morning I definitely had my third best dream ever:

I'm sitting at a table on a long hotel porch, looking at the ocean, there's a stage behind me, and the cure is playing. they start with 'just like heaven', it sounds so good I start singing with them while I'm staring the sea, and suddenly I realize that robert smith is sitting by my side and singing in my ear, and looking into my eyes, we're singing together about angels dancing in the deepest oceans, twisting underwater, and I just wriggled all over, giggled like a schoolgirl, probably fainted, and then woke up with a big fucking smile on my face.

dream #2 and #1 are me in bed with stabler from Criminal Intent and horatio from CSI Miami, and george clooney feeding me potato chips in bed, respectively.

ps. and all this makes me wonder if maybe this morning robert smith woke up and told someone over coffee, O Lo, I had the strangest dream about some freckley bird last night...

she who strives to be a dragon -- pompous, NOT.

my pretty poney -- horse perverts, go away.

the incredible tales of momichi san -- hero of the gallaxy, interstellar pricess

stateborough blues -- what would the allman brothers do?

glad I'm so sour -- now bilingual! now bilingüe!

intensity embraced -- cause who said it was going to be easy?

I'm pondering change. we need more music and laughs, and less intensity.

femina, insana

-- the other day I dreamed that my mother, brother, and I were waiting at a table for you and your lot, a family reunion, as it were, you showed up all happiness and smiles, oh la dee la, except you were with your wife, and carried a baby in your arms. 'I had a child, did you hear?' you said with that big smile, and I answered yes, I heard, except I heard you had a boy, and that you're holding is clearly a girl, all curls and bows and little dress. either way, I walked away from the table even though everyone called me back, since I clearly had nothing to do there.
the really whacko part is that throughout all this, we both had the same hairdo, and as usual it probably looked better on you.

** what drives me bugshit about you is that you really buy all that crap you tell me. in your heart of hearts, you really believe this is a tragic story about a true heart and an untrue bitch, instead of the incredibly tiresome story of the guy who won't commit and panicks into believing anything. even that he's still in love with his ex, who's a bitch everytime she points out they didn't really have a very good relationship at all.

## about you, sometimes I really wish things could be different, that I could love you so we could set out to find a rock to comfortably decompose on, grow lots of plants, build lots of crap, and possibly have maybe blonde, definetely insane, if not very tall children. but you can't command the heart they say, and the fact is that I don't love you and I never did. I tried enough to know for sure.

::: you're cruel to me and... I sort of like it. then hate myself for it.

adoro a mi ipod (favod). estas últimas semanas se ha convertido en casi apéndice, tanto que hasta escucho ruiditos cuando no traigo puestos los audífonos, escucho la música a todo lo que da, creo que un poco fuerte porque veo que los vidrios de las casas vibran a mi paso y al ritmo de mi canción, pero poco me importa. el alivio de poder levantar una muralla de sonido entre el mundo y yo, vale absolutamente todo, incluyendo el riesgo de que me aplaste una marquesina en llamas mientras yo ignoro los gritos de advertencia. de cualquier forma, estos días Me Vale Verga lo que me pase, así que lo único que realmente vendría a arruinarme el día es que me asaltaran y se llevaran mi ipod.... otra vez.

pero en fin en esta vida hay que correr riesgos, no.

entonces ahí voy, tratando de huirle al mundo, al mono en mi espalda y a los demonios y ánimas y otros bichos que se me andan pegando, camino todos los días de regreso del trabajo, para espabilarme, para despejarme, para (no) pensar, para (no) soñar, y entonces más bien camino como quien marcha por tierra de nadie, ignorando semáforos y viejitos y vendedores ambulantes,

y así es como ayer casi me voy, cuando vi un hueco en Patriotismo y me aventé para cruzar como si no hubiera un mañana, o más bien como a quien Le Vale Verga; y que los ocho condesitas que venían detrás de mí, todos como de doce años, pensaron que ésa era la señal para cruzar la calle y que se lanzan detrás de mí. por una vez mi burbuja de sonido se vio vulnerada, con el chirriar de frenos y claxons, me pasó rozando un Mercedes y bueno, casi a todos nos lleva la carambola, entonces así estuvimos de cumplir nuestros sueños, yo el de que si me atropellan, que por lo menos sea un buen auto; el de mi hermano, de llevarme varios Condechis The Next Generation como souvenir; y el de otras personas de dejarme embarrada por todo lo ancho de una gran arteria vial...

This funk just won't leave me be, and I realize it's been two years since I last had any psych control. I left it at the time because I was feeling better after two months of treatment, my life had kickstarted in some sort of motion again and I just couldn't be bothered with spending any more money on a doctor who couldn't remember my name or keep track of my prescription.

however, now I'm thinking this is probably more than a funk, it's been a few months since everything became all difficult all over again, balance all gone, no will to do anything except moan and cackle manically at dusk...

I know I don't cope well with change, and there's been a lot of that lately; I'm not that blurry around the edges yet, I haven't missed days at work, I'm not headbanging against walls or flinging cats or the homeless, but I'm not sleeping and I've caught myself giving some speculation to the sharp objects around the house, and people are giving me weird looks in the store which means I'm thinking aloud again, and that tells me I might be seriously heading towards ga-ga land, especially if I let myself, but I'm not going to do that. I really don't have the time or the inclination. despite what everyone thinks, I do not like being miserable.

so I'm toying with the idea of finding myself a therapist. only toying for now, cause I still have a couple of aces under my sleeve (and my heart, I seem to keep it there these days it seems), I plan on giving the wheel of kharma one hell of a FUCK OFF soon if things don't start looking up....

in the meantime the therapy is my daily hour of Scrubs, then Seinfield. and today was extra special because Scrubs was on again right after! yay!

laughs awww:
(the song is Sugar Baby Love by The Rubettes, from the st of a Breakfast in Pluto, which is one hell of a good movie...):

ayer, por el tercer wyborowa con ananá (no nanica), por fin me senté a escribir sobre aquello que me daba vueltas, ya con algunas ideas sobre discurso, narrativa y recursos, comparativas, etcétera; pero para mi desconcierto, me di cuenta que mi hermano agarró y lo escribió primero, libre adaptación de detalles, por supuesto, pero el sentimiento era el mismo.

así que in perplejis profundis, ya no escribí nada. más bien encontré más joyas.

is it full moon today? was it yesterday? why am I so friggin intense? I feel like an extremely large bunny is burrowing under my chest, bizarre as that might sound.

yesterday I was halfway through the season's ending of Grey's Anatomy and I started bawling my eyes out. then the episode turned to the extreme absurdity again and I promptly stopped, thank god. it's good to know I haven't reached those levels of pathethic yet.

but I'm not far off. this morning, the flock of seagulls sweeping over my head had to literally pick me up from bed, and that's why I don't ever give my heart to strangers, or tell secrets to my friends.

laughs haha

sometimes I can see it happening, so clearly. almost feel it happening.

I'm walking on the street, on my way to work or maybe to the store, and suddenly a car turns around the corner too fast and runs me over when crossing, or a ram charger drives up the curb and crushes me against a wall. there I lay (or stand) all squished, insides destroyed, my foot or maybe even half a leg left behind me on the curb, my face scraped up and my fingers blistered from the engine's heat, feeling the grit and dirt and blood on my broken teeth,

and I always think, the last thought that'll cross my mind will probably be, 'well, that sure was a whole lot ado about nothing'.

and on a much lighter note, I 've realized today that for some reason, my exes constitute a great part of my friendships. I wonder what that means, that today all the conversations that went beyond the hi, how are you, happened with some incarnation of former foolish love.

I don't know the reason, but I guess I'm grateful. without them to chat with, I'd feel pretty lonely when I'm here lurking in my hole.

mi labor como ninfa de la cosmópolis comienza hoy mismo. en realidad pocas son las ganas que tengo de hacer las cosas, pero qué le hace uno; como ya dije antes a pocos les sale natural, la disciplina es difícil y sobre todo, los hábitos son de lo más difíciles de formar y de romper (preguntar a cualquier fumador o bulímico qué tan "natural" les salía eso de programarse el tiempo para fumar y provocarse el vómito en los primeros días), y en resumen,

esto de la ninfeidad funciona. comienzas a ver los círculos y rizos que convergen, y comienzas a verle los hilos a la marioneta. claro, porque yo no por querer ser ahora ninfa significa que ya lo sea, así que debo aplicarme a estudiar a las mejores ninfas que conozco, y robar tips de todos los demás es sus momentos de ninfeidad.

por ejemplo:

touchee

love notes, eleanor and marianne:

<<Milady
Well darling, it seems like you didn´t know me.
Yes, i can be a bitch.
Hello big news.
But I am not a baby or a spoiled brat
And frankly my dear,
you are the bitch.>>

<<gracious miss adler,
point completely taken, my deah. after establishing that I sometimes show all the sensitivity of a styrofoam cup, and that you are just a wee bit intense, I do believe we might shake hands, spank each other a little, and mayhap afterwards have a good cup of tea.
shall I put the kettle on then?
p.s. I send thee these melodies for you to sing during the daily toil..
top 3 tunes for the ladies
1. disco 2000 -- pulp
2. shiny happy people -- r.e.m.
3. drop dead gorgeous -- republica>>

a great escape

there was just a very loud noise upstairs, and I think marianne yelled that a flock of geese has just flown through her window, or something like that.

it's just one of those really interesting things that I fancy I hear every day, only to find out that the reality is much less creative. but for a few seconds, frequently the most wonderful, weird, bizarre, awful (gorge-mine-eyes-out awful) images float for a few seconds in my mind, resulting from the combination of my rhyming ear and the seven remaining marbles I have left rolling upstairs. not to mention the two giant stoned moths, eleanor and carlyle.

hey, that almost reads like I'm in a good mood, and I'm not. or at least I wasn't until I pictured my roommate and her dog being beaten to tatters by a passing flock of migrating birds. from there to thinking that they have the avian flu, it's only a short hop down the daydream road.

well -- good thing, today's exam was postponed, so I only had to take one. goodie. I have to be back there tomorrow for observation, and watch me dance in joy.

gah. it's 1 am. I still have 8 pages, only eight I know, but still eight pages to go in my ever-expanding super huge file, but my eyes are crossing. does anyone think someone's ass will fall down if I finish those asshole pages tomorrow? I DIDN'T THINK SO EITHER. thank you, good night I say.

top 3 of sleepey timey

1. cucurrucucu paloma -- versión caetano veloso para hable con ella
2. somewhere over the rainbow -- versión de israel kamakawiwo ole OLE cooka bonga
3. dance me till the end of love -- leonard cohen

math killed me bran

nevermind, I went and took a shower.

I'm going to have a girl moment

I just watched bend it like beckham. it was on the tube. it's a very watchable sunday movie, if you ask me --I also love parminder nagra and I cry and weep for neela's fate every thursday on ER --but that's not my point just now.

what is it with irishmen and their sexy way of saying words? it just kills me. I mean, it's understandable that I should pant when I see norman reedus in the boondock saints, I mean just look at the guy:



yes, all that and french fries, please.



but what about jon rhys meyers? I can see how he's a knockout, but he's just not my style in any number of ways; he's way too girly cute for me.



however, when he opens those nice thick rosy lips and says "turn arOund" with that sexy sexy gargle-gargle... it just... makes me feel faint and queasy inside.

I suppose I should be somewhat grateful that I've met no irishdude to enslave me to do his bidding, being my immediate circle chock-full with UK-landers.

why must I be infatuated with the bad boys? and why aren't there any left around?

top 3 Erin go Braugh! (grrowrr)
1. irish blood, english heart -- morrisey
2. brown eyed girl -- van morrison
3. I don't like mondays -- boomtown rats

last night I dreamed that somebody loved me

tengo una infección en el oído. lo cual de más está decir, no es agradable y ni siquiera digno; nadie me cree que desde el jueves padezco una dolencia que me hace inclinar la cabeza como el perrito de la RCA.

m me dice:

"claro, es que deberías cuidarte, deberías comer bien, deberías comer TRES veces al día, no una vez cada que te acuerdas, hacer ejercicio, dejar de fumar cigarrillos, no fumar tanta mota y tomar algunas vitaminas".

a lo cual yo digo, ok, compraré unas vitaminas.

y mi vida mientras tanto, en el hiato permanente. qué le va uno a hacer.

termino de leer High Fidelity de Nick Hornby y encuentro que en la portada hay algo que me choca un poco. "... so sharp about sex and manliness, memory and music."

manliness. he descubierto que ya me cansé del club de toby. este libro es brillante sobre ambos sexos, y sin embargo no es esta la primera vez que se me indica que ésta es una historia de niños. y entonces me enojo, pero sé que la batalla está perdida de entrada, porque ésta es la forma en que probablemente el mismo hornby describe su libro, y entonces ya perdí desde antes de empezar.

oh, ya véis como todo es de fastidioso.

mila cumple hoy un mes en la casa, el catorce de febrero entre cualquier día. qué tierno. lo bueno es que a ella realmente le importa un pimiento; si pudiera hablar diría que siempre ha vivido con nosotras, y que poco importa cuánto es eso en huesos de carnaza o paseítos mañaneros.

me cae re gordo san valentín; y ¡demonios! por supuesto que tuvo que caer hoy, ¿a que no? es decir, que hoy hace dos años ocurrió algo que cambió mi vida en ese entonces; y ahora, me cae el doble de gordo san valentín.

lo cual no debe traducirse en que sufro; por el contrario, me siento como quien contempla a alguien derrumbado sobre la acera, y lo pateas con el pie para comprobar si está vivo, si se mueve, si respira.

creo que está vivo, pero profundamente dormido.

o en otras palabras, creo que perdí la razón hace un par de días... y no me siento ni bien ni mal, sino exactamente igual... aunque me duele el oído.

chasing the wind

tengo esta terrible costumbre también, entre las demás, de confundir a la gente. como poner títulos que nadie entiende. la neta es que por lo general, no sé qué poner en el título, y entonces me cuelgo una línea de la canción o canciones que escucho mientras escribo. casi siempre parece adecuada en el momento, aunque a veces olvido por qué después.

I love it that I only feel absolutely compelled to write here when I'm particularly querulous. besides the time factor, that has really became an issue lately. but today I rescheduled the teahouse for wednesday and stayed in, because I have class practice tomorrow and I'd promised to make the lesson plan.

well, I found out early that I forgot the class notes at my teammate's place. DUH. that was on s

(

balls I lost my notebook! balls I lost my cellphone! balls balls BALLS.

having lost both, I'm kind of stranded here since the early morning. being the wise little bee I am I know I'm too stupid to confide my whole life in a single device, because I'm bound to lose it seven times a week,,,,

three pounds.

and now let's try this again. one, two, three, own your dot, click comments, say hello.

statesborough nears 3,000 visitor mark

wow, look at all the people!
each one of those dots is a visitor. I can see you in my tracker, and now you see yourself too! here's an idea: if you own one of the dots, claim it and tell a bit about yourself.

i've been dazed and confused baby

I'm translating a huge medical document and a huge services book at the same time.

and after I don't know how many days of how many segments of 50 minutes of solid working, before my timer goes Ring and just, just before my encephalic mass squirms into my right shoulder, I sometimes write things like:

"When bone tissue grows into the implant, it helps firmly tax the employee within the thighbone."

covered by a visible pile of dust,
glued to the PC by spiderwebs,
typing fingers aflame,
oh my i'm going insane
oh lordie, me thinks I'm a case.
somehow it seems like I've been typing forever
and yet there's more AND MORE for me to lever
the irony is,
they said translation was paid work
well HA!, I still don't have a wok.
the lesson of all this would be:
don't ever be a freelancer
payment in ninety days can give you an ulcer

chumbawamba

I got a new book! yay! YAY!

I've got a lot of work! yay! YAY!

my computer fried. BOOOOOO!

I don't have time to surf. BOOOO!