Entry Sixty-Four

I never promised to be consistent.

The presence of this toothache makes me uncomfortable and might hinder creativity.

I did however come up with the inklings of an idea. It involved an interstellar diner. The name The Cancer Cafe came to mind. As did a character named Thrasher Doobian.

Ha. A collection of short stories. All about a human who works at The Cancer Cafe as a cook and moonlights as something. I haven't decided yet. Perhaps a private detective. Or maybe a bounty hunter. Or both. The point is, You'd be surprised at how much information can be gleaned from the customers at a restaurant like The Cancer Cafe.

Thrasher is a tall and fairly gangly man (but don't let that fool you. He fights like rabid ferret protecting its territory. But don't think that he LOOKS like a ferret. It was just a personality comparison). He has bright red hair and blue eyes. More often than not clean shaven, though he did sport a good looking goatee years ago when he was still on the intergalactic police force. Yeah, he used to be a cop. But there was an incident. He was on an undercover case with three other officers trying to take down one of the biggest drug cartels in the Milky Way galaxy. According to his account, he got cocky and careless. Long story short, the bust was a failure and the other three officers lost their lives. Because of this and other PLANTED evidence, Doobian was wrongly accused of working with the cartel and kicked off the force. He was shamed into hiding from all he knew and moved out of the Milky Way and eventually ended up working at The Cancer Cafe.

Through chance he had the oppritunity to keep some of his detective skills sharpened. He couldn't help it. Those cases were begging to be solved. And you hear a lot about shady dealings in a place like The Cancer Cafe. Doobian solved a few of these cases and found that it helped him cope. Now, through word of mouth, you can hear of the amazing skills of Thrasher Doobian and call upon him if you want a case solved under the radar or just don't trust the proper authorities.

In an attempet to sitck it to those who ruined his life, Doobian also works as a small transporter. Smuggler is another term for it. Small things. Nothing huge. And all very hush, hush. He found he was good at it since he intimatly knows the inner working of the intergalactic poliece. He was able to transport things quite easily. This was his petty and self pitying revenge. But it brought in extra cash.

Thrasher Doobian has enough money to live pretty, but instead spends a lot of it on high tech equipment to make his dealings easier. The rest he saves up for a time he will leave and go some place far away where he never has to hear about the intergalactic poliece again and where noone knows his name.

So that is the general idea. Like I said. Short stories. Like episodes. I blame it on a few things.

-Watching Psych
-Watching Star Wars
-Working at Bob Evans

Okay. Later.

Entry Sixty-Three

Okay, the season finale of Supernatural.

This post will be largly about the episode.

Can I say that I LOVE that they play Kansas a the start of every season finale?

"Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man. Though my mind could think, I still was a madman...Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more."

It's Eddie! Eddie from First Wave. Aw. I have a feeling he is evil and going to kill all those nuns.

Aw. He looks so sad. Too bad he is an evil jerk who betrayed his older brother.

Also, I have a bone to pick with the people that picked this girl to play Ruby. I already hated her, then they put in this actress that barely even merits the title.

In every season, my favorite has been Sam. I have to say that this is not the case this season. Not since I found out he's been drinking demon blood.

Go Bobby, go. You rule my world even though your not the best actor.

Um, what just happened? What's the pretty room?

Angles would not bring him beer.

Nice. Dean referencing The Suite Life of Zac and Cody.

"Bail on the holodeck, okay?"

Have I mentioned already how much I dislike the way they portray angles in this?

That was smart of the demon. If he still drains her, I will stop watching.

Okay, probably wont stop watching. But it looks like he's going to go through with it.

"Maybe Dean was right..." Um, you think?

Well, I saw that one coming. Though I am not happy about it.

It is going to happen, but not this way. God does not work that way.

Aaaaand I totally predicted that Sam was going to be the reason the last seal would be broken.

"Where's God in all this?"

"God? He left the building."

Um, not! I am so tired of movie and TV plots insisting that God is not involved in any of this. His hand is seen in everything. Ug. This is easily my least favorite season.

No one will ever read this post and find it interesting. Only me. Good thing that is the only thing that matters.

My head hurts. Nothing to do with the show. It just hurts. I think I need to drink more water.

Do it Castiel. Help him! You were always the only angle in the right! Do it.

He will.

I know it.

No Sam. Don't do it. No. I will forever hate you if you do.

Oh, that is low. SOOOOOO low! I hate that angel and that is wrong! I should be siding with the angels!! Ug. Again. I hate this season.

Who else is really sick of the Old Navy commercials. Bad move by their marketing department.

And again with the random prophet.

Ew. Sam. I hate you now. You did it.

I LOVE Castiel.

Awww...he stops because he hears Dean. No Sam. Don't so it. C'mon. You know who to trust.

No, no, no. If course this is how it's going to end. Ug. Whatever. There can be no resolution. There has to be some HUGE battle at the end. And since I am pretty sure that season 5 will be the last, I think Lucifer is going to be released. And then the whole next season will be hunting him down.

I hate you Sam.

I KNEW THAT RUBY WAS A TRAITOR. I NEVER TRUSTED HER!!!!! SAM YOU ARE SO STUPID!!!

Dean, kill Ruby. You have to. Get in and kill her.

YES!!! Thank goodness.

Oh jeez. Here it comes.

Worst. Ending. Ever.

Is this still my favorite show? Only if it ends good.

I am so disappointed and unhappy. And that makes me sad. Time to find a way to catch up on Lost and love that show. It never disappoints.

Okay, done. I promise that the next post won't be so pointless.

Entry Sixty-Two BUS STORIES ENTRY

Rather brief. But it's something.

(This portion of the entry occurs just after we left off in the last entry.)

The impact was jarring. The sound was deafening and I felt like that hit alone had shattered my whole body. But I was still alive, still conscious as the car spun. Like a merry-go-round. Like some terrifying ride. One on which I would probably die. There was this horrible screeching, a deafening scream as tires skidded and metal ripped apart. For one spit second I could hear the screams of the driver of the truck. Or maybe that was me. Then everything was dark.

Entry Sixty-One

Or not. That's what happens when you don't follow through.

Should be getting ready to take a test on Yeats, Keats, Blake, Wordsworth, Woolf, Austen, the Victorian period, Romanticism, and all the like.

Instead I come here to express a foolish feeling.

Mostly it has to to with a person. Mostly that person is a completely illogical choice to focus on. But there are times when our hearts decide to go a way of their own. Completely opposite of what are heads are logically suggesting.

I need to wake up my birds.

Here I go.

I'm not that worried about this test. Maybe I should be. If I do horrible I bring my grade down to a low B. I have to potential to get an A. I got an A on the last exam. But I think that I (1) knew the material better and (2) studied more.

I hope I get a B in Pop Dy.

I also hope that I can quickly get over this problem of thinking about this person. I can promise you that you will NEVER guess who it is. I can also promise you that I will never betray myself and let you know who it is. You will never know.

Think on that for a while.

"we could have had so much fun, but you blew it away."

I am not having fun and I will continue to have no fun until after my final tomorrow morning from 10:30-12:30.

Man do I miss a real number pad.

"Nothing by my own skin."

I love my finches. I want to buy them a bigger cage.

What I REALLY want to do is let them fly around the room freely. But then they would poo on everything and I can't have that. I have considered wrapping my whole room in newspaper.

But then getting things would be hard and I would wake each morning with yesterdays headline written on my face.

Man, that sounds like a good line from a book involving a tragedy.

"There he stood. Hair a mess, clothes covered in a days worth of grunge, and yesterdays headline written all over his face. You always believe that what you read in the newspaper will never have any personal meaning to you. Today, Russel could no longer number himself among the people who read Sundays paper and moved on. He would not, could not, ever move on. Not from this. There was no recovering. And in that moment, I felt that I would never see him the same way again."

There.

That makes me feel a little bit better.

Now back to the featured item...studying for my British Literature (The Major Authors) Final Examination.

I really should have been a literature major.

Entry Sixty

I'm there. 60, baby.

And I feel sick. My head is...not on fire. There are no flames. It's more like I'm being held deep under water. There is pressure.

I want it to go away. Yet, I only have myself to blame. I am the one who decided that it was a good idea to take a 3 hour nap. It felt good at the time. Especially since I got 4 hours of sleep last night.

Then my body screams at me, "WHY DID YOU WAKE ME UP!"

Truth be told, I could have slept right into the night. Slept from 3:00-10:00 or 11:00. But I didn't want to waste the rest of today. So I awoke and promptly got on the computer.

I have to admit that the glare from the screen is not helping things. I don't want to look away.

Also, my show starts in 5 minutes and I cannot miss it. Unless we have already turned the cable off.

Oh, what do I do. The advice? Wait until after finals to worry about it. But by then we are getting into "real problem" territory. Why am I the one? I have asked myself this over and over again.

(Is it just me, or has the acting in Smallville gotten worse? Not just since the start, I mean from last week.)

(Speaking of bad acting, I love this show...but does clenching and showing your teeth really equal acting? You look like a chimp)

Back to things. I SHOULD be studying for the finals that I have next week. The weekend will be spent wishing bees would attack those that are delinquent.

Maybe I should get a head start. Then again, I think I would much rather watch my Netflix movie.

Did that.

"Now we'll always never know."

I love thunder storms more than pretty much anything else.

I also love writing when creativity permits.

I just feel like doing nothing, but that requires sitting and I am SICK of sitting.

Okay. Time to get some more story put out there.

Refer to the next post.

Right now.

Entry Fifty-Nine

I could fall asleep to spring peepers.

Some deep inside part of me yearns to.

A smoky cloud passes across a crescent moon and the moment is lost.

Time to get back to work.

It is still time to worry and be unhappy. Shortly that time will be over and ease will be what is written on my heart. Not this black scrawl.

All I want to do is sleep. It dulls the worry and the anxiety. It puts it off until morning. Then is returns in full force.

I am the queen of procrastination.

This queen bids you farewell.

Entry Fifty-Eight BUS STORIES ENTRY

Oh jeez. This makes two entries in one day. And two BUS STORIES entries at that! Also, I am close to the 60 landmark. Who wants to get me a diamond? Ha. Just kidding.

SO here goes. I'm pretty sure it's going to be another short one. I need to sleep.


Time to put on a little Muse/Coldplay/Keane (etc.) and let 'er rip!


STARTING RIGHT AFTER THE LAST ENTRY (just after she pushed 7)

Not much stuck out in my mind after that. The cold, realistic part of me was weeping. My disgusted and terribly pessimistic sense of being scoffed and took over. First, call in. No work today.

I'm not sure who I talked to or what was said. I'm sure I made my excuses and the co-worker receiving the information was rolling their eyes. Most of them did that behind my back. They thought I was a crazy, lazy, anti-socialite suffering from depression. They were right.

Next thing I knew, I was in my car. My noisy, old Saturn. The tires needed rotating. The whole car shook if I got over 60 mph on the highway.

No breakfast with Josh and Susan.

No time for ANY kind of pleasantness this morning.

I'm not sure if the horrid consciousness leading my actions really had intentions of my death. Death always sounded like a good idea at times like this. But today? Today was different. I'd tried death on this day. Several times. Last year in fact. It never worked. October 24th was not may day to die in any year. Yet it was the death day reserved for a man and an unborn baby boy.

Desperate for something to take the anguish that was threatening to explode in me, I made my down the highway. Go somewhere. Anywhere. The car shook in protest as I pushed 85. That should have warned me. But I just wanted to forget.

I could never forget.

It had been dark then. But not too dark. The stars and moon painted the road with silver. The windows were down and the air smelled of dead leaves and spices. We were driving home from a week early Halloween party. Me and Will. It had been outside the city. A friend owned some land. There had been a bonfire, marshmallows, hot dogs, soda. I'd held Will's hand and snuggled with him on a soft fleece blanket. He grabbed a white hot tipped branch and wrote my name in smoke. He rested his free hand on my gently swelling belly.

Mikey kicked for the very first time.

We had been so excited. We made everyone come over and try to feel it. No one did, of course. Once Will's hand had left, the kicking stopped. It didn't matter. We both felt it. We knew it was real. There were no words in existence that could describe the happiness and contentment that I felt.

No words will be invented that can express how I felt when all that was taken from me. How I feel now, sill existing without them.

I wasn't watching the road. I just barreled down. There was a split second when I saw it coming at me. This horribly battered and sad looking truck. In that second, all this flooded in...

...Better to die remembering something wonderful than something awful. Better to have reality wrench you back just before memory lane took you into a terrifying dark tunnel. What was the color? Why was it going the wrong way on the highway? It didn't matter because it was there and nothing could stop what was going to happen. Did I brace myself? Did I make any attempt to avoid it? No. Here was my chance. Here was this truck, here was me. The distance between us closing impossibly fast. And at the last second...would I make it through this?

Okay, for real. Time to get to sleep.

Tomorrow I will definitely have more. Can't stop a good flow while it's coming.