Like they were on stalks.

I would also like to say that last night, as I wrote my entry, I was bitten no less than 12 times by a mosquito, quite possibly one single mosquito. I killed it, finally. But it got me, nonetheless. I was feeling normal, nothing out of the ordinary, then suddenly I began to itch in one place, then another, then another and another and another, until 12 welts were ragingly visible on my poor, practically exsanguinated body. Bastard. AfterBite does not work.

Still sick, which sucks arse. I workeda long day and I'm now at home with my fabulous self, about to watch parts five and six from the series "TAKEN", which was filmed here. It's so swell watching a series like that becase every five minutes you're saying "hey there's so and so, hey there's my friend yahoo, hey I could have played that role, hey how did he/she get cast? He/she sucks!" etc etc.

I'm also going to watch Connie and Carla. If any of you say anything, expect snakes in the mail.

I feel a bit strange in this new diary. I feel like I've cut off a leg, in a way. Or an arm. Ok maybe at least my little toe. There are so many things in lintpickle that I wrote, that I felt were beautiful and part of me and explained me so well, along with all the things I'm embarassed to have said, or felt and just blurted out in fits of emotional barfing. I guess moving on in life requires a little bit of sacrifice, a little bit of letting go, which I've always had so much trouble with.

Hey, if there are any old readers in here that can remember an entry they loved and would like me to reprint, let me know, and I'll consider it.

There are some things you don't have to let go of, after all.