Dream. Ashton Kutchner was my cousin. Told someone. He was being filmed. My father just cleaned my rugs. I had two pet iguanas running loose outside. I clapped one came back in the other was wandering with two dogs. Tried to take a picture but forgot to press the flash button. One dog came in and I worried about my father. The clean rugs. There's more my coffee water just whistled I put a frozen peach scone in the toaster oven. Finally started reading The Plot Thickens. there still is no time to write. Only enough to jot down dreams.

Oh hell. Here I am again…cheating. It's slightly ahead of time. But I won't be done until the clock strikes midnight.. ok? Found a paranormal fly under my rug….next to my long lost eyeglasses. This will only make sense if you ever read my earlier postings. Read is red. That is a silly word. makes no sense unless explained. Hope to be what? Somewhat literate? Somewhat upbeat? No point in being depressing. Alright. Put the lion in the coconut. And drink it all up? Put the lime in the coca and you drink it all up? What are they saying?

Didn't get words in yesterday. Hopped a plane to another city. Already thinking I have no time this month again but now I have to push out words. Might have something wrong with my heart or lungs. In case I disappear off the site it might be because I died. Just need to get my divorce in order. All loose ends still. Doctors do always tell women they are hysterical and there is nothing wrong with them. Could be true in my case. If I do die it's not a big deal. I want my computer buried for 50 years.

Was Daisy the one who sat naked in a tree communing with nature? My mom says that her father never drove a beer truck. I swear she told me he did. I believe that my mother changes stories every few years. She told me off a few months ago and said I need to be on medication. I think that sitting naked in a tree is a normal thing. you wouldn't do it in a city environment but out in the country where trees are more natural without those little cropped hairdos it makes sense to climb up and commune.

I'm done with being a social animal. I go through the motions. The country is shockingly awesome. Don't know how to say it. Those trees. The white dog loves me. Wish I could bring her back to the city but she bristles when walking up toward other houses. Her hairs stand on end to say beware. Think she'd not know how to act with city dogs. I imagine bringing her to a trainer for assessment. How silly. She has owners. I do fall in love with animals that belong to others. I miss my horse. I didn't own her either.

Someone I had a crush on years ago showed up. He had one blue eye like an old dog. It turned that way I guess over the years. I liked him, but still couldn't talk. Talked a bit but just not comfortable. My name on this site confuses my entries. I'm not a man. I make up stories sometimes and mix them in with truth. My soon-to-be ex says I exaggerate and make up lies. I don't really believe that. He says I twist everything. I wish it were true. It might be easier to live with a cracked reality.

I come off sounding like an animal lover but I wasn't. I live in my head but in reality fall short. Maybe many of us do. I used to play Charlotte Church for Petite when I'd groom her and calves came down one day to listen. They laid down on the hill next to the stall and were lulled to sleep. And we eat these creatures. My ex's mom said that her family's cow cried all morning the day that the butcher came to kill her. Then she stuck her head out for him to hit her between the eyes.

Delicious breakfast while contemplating my inadequacies and character deficiencies. Would have been perfect if I had my Trader Joe's decaf with the bird on the cover. I try other coffees just in case there's one as good. There hasn't been. Ate a warm keep-frozen peach passion fruit scone with melted orange sauce with a half banana, avocado slices and squeezes of fresh lime. Who would think that it would be a great combo bite stacked and slathered? I'd been missing out all this time keeping them separated. I know I feel sorry for myself when my cup is three-quarters full.

I've been in a slump for 10 years. Thought marriage would help improve quality of life. Pooled resources. Be able to get out of renting in the city. His money kept going for new vehicles. Once a year he'd show up with something shocking. But he couldn't afford rent? But he worked so hard? He said his friends said that Americans are like that. They all just want to hold on to their money. I'm the materialistic one? One side of me still loves him but the other is on its knees thanking God for helping me push myself out.

The poor guy, though. I make a horrible wife. But he was supposed to fix stuff around the apartment. I have to stop this. Over. Done. Almost just went to pick up an old dog. The lady thought he probably was too feeble to go back and forth from city to country. If there's an old dog, an easy one, that wouldn't mind the car, that would be in threat of euthanasia, then I might end up with a dog. Rats are nice. They poop too many pellets. Easier to use snack bags to pick up after a small dog.

Lost interest in writing…again. Need a nap. Can't understand political debate. Afraid of the forest. Have a bandaid on my finger. Cold. Tired. Disillusioned. Read something the other day that was uplifting but the writer crashed into a mountain in a single engine plane. Might just go take a bath. Wish I could like people but I just don't. Only like them sometimes and this must be the off season. Had my hair trimmed but now feel hacked. I had to chop more because the hack looked too odd to me. My chop was a trim to balance the hack.

Can't remember to enter words. Can't seem to get out of the house. Almost adopted an old grey poodle. Cluttered. The rent is too high for me. Considering renting a windowless room. But then I couldn't have a dog. Shoot. Why did I start this again this month? Have to quit again at the end of the month. Doctor tests haven't shown anything wrong. Mobile, Alabama. That just popped into my head for no reason. A popsicle. Don't know how to spell it. I'll close my eyes and open them and write a random word. Blank. Just shooting blanks. Bop.

Fatique. Has to be a physical explanation. Fatigue. Don't know how to spell it. Could hardly get off the couch today. Have to work tomorrow. This is a record of degeneration. Nothing to say. Thinking of letting the month slip into the zapped deleted omitted computer disposal garbage file. 49 words. Definitely will quit this site when or if I make it to the end of the month. Good site but I'm not a writer. 75 words. How many more things are there to say today hey. 87 words. How many words Now? 93 so we are almost to the

There is something wrong with me dwelling on moles, puffy cheeks, dolls I had in childhood, the fat developing on the sides of my thighs because I don't take walks up hills anymore. Why can't I think about other people and their problems like not having food or a place to go to the bathroom or whether they'll still be here tomorrow? Maybe my mole is a safe place to go when I can't face anything else. What can I do? Give money? I'm in debt because I owed for taxes. I don't know enough about how to handle money.

What is the fascination with clown dolls? People don't seem to really like them but if you check ebay it's always the clown that draws interest. Marrionettes with the strings cut off might be number 2. A clown marrionette might be a good pet. Haunted. No strings. Litter box trained. My son tried to get my grandson to use a toilet. He showed him that his Wiggles doll went number 2. It was actually tiny pellets of ground turkey. Looked convincing but my grandson still isn't potty trained. I hear every move the neighbor upstairs is making. It is distracting.

I'd like to write as though I know how. But I don't. And don't have time to learn. So that is why my entries are all about me. A considerate person told me about a wonderful book to help with writing, but it's been months and I'm still only halfway through. I feel disabled. Embarrassed. Silly. So I hate people. I have a patch on my butt to help with pain. Psychosomatic. The invisible kick. I blame my parents. The poor dears. They keep giving and all they get is grief. I'm American. Land of the free and the brave.

Laughing so hard over my ebay auctions. Just can't deal with people without picking fights. Not real fights. Taunts. Can't explain. Hard to write because I want to maintain a certain privacy. My stories – the real ones—would sound contrived, made up. I have to wait until everyone I know dies and then I can write freely. Maybe I need to move to another city. Dysfunctional. Do have friends, though, and a large very extended family. Maybe my life would have been easier if I had married my first love. He's crazy now, too. We stay in touch. Oh pshaw.

Years ago I was negative but had passions. Now I still have my negativity and have lost my passions to fatigue. can't muster up fear. Too tired. Maybe I wrote about fears. can't remember. Now? Who cares? Those two words were my husband's favorites. I do have fear. Of him. Only because the marriage didn't make sense. If I were to tell the story it would sound like he is a con. It would sound like he had a double life. Maybe he is totally innocent and I was horrible. I get stuck on all of this and can't function.

Had an other-worldly experience. Could have been dreaming but I think it was true. There was Manuel Neri. Real. I felt like a stalker. Mary Julia his model was there, too, right on the stage in front of me. One of his sculptures was in the library. Amazing books. On my way out, there he was. I tried to slow down out of nervousness. I touched the handrail after him as if he were Jesus able to heal me. His white truck was near my white car. He saw me half-looking at him so I said, "It was very inspiring."

tough. No time to do anything well. Mary Julia the model said that she could only write poetry well if she pretended that she was reading it to Manuel while he was sculpting or painting or whatever it was he was doing while she posed. Only the first part is what she said. I've messed up what she said. She said that if she didn't pretend that the poem was for Manuel then it would just end up being a poem about her dog. I should have had a tape recorder because I can't tell a story without ruining it.

Debating whether or not to stop before the month ends to delete these entries. Keep finding myself shocked over everything. I have no stories. I have to repeat names in my head to remember the right one while talking to people. My doctor tested me asking if I remember his name and I said, "Sometimes." Didn't remember it at the moment but it came back a few later. Trying to hide my disabilities. Don't know where to put them. Oh criminy. Thought my words were up but still need filler. 99 bottles of beer on the wall 99 bottles of beer

Forgot to write. Forgot to go to work to let in the carpet cleaner. Found out the dance class I wanted to go to no longer exists. Wondering if my pain is on the way out. Had a shift. Pain starting in a yoga class but disappearing after fish pose. Trying to move carefully. Cleaned out 6 drawers. Still organizing. It would be a miracle if my pain heals. Not totally free of it. It's like a sleeping snake that shifts position slightly every so often. What would be the cure? Manuel Neri, pain patch, fish pose, divorce, vodou? Bobo.

It would be a miracle to ever ride a horse again. My saddle sits on my yoga bench. This must be what most people go through when they age. All of a sudden you're old and you wake up and everything you've loved to do is gone. You even mourn that you sold your dining room set twenty years ago. You are in the middle of writing something and you can't remember what you had to say. Instead of swatting flies you try to get them to sit on your finger so you can take them outside. You get dizzy.

only have 5 minutes. 6:10 a.m. no time to write stories I save all the emails from people who have millions of dollars to give away because someone was killed in a car crash with his whole family. must be hundreds of these in my stories folder. just heard the flock of wild parrots honk as they flew by. know I'm negative but have an excuse because I live in the bay area where a tiny crappy house is a million dollars. I've tried to keep my rent close to market value because my aunts own the building. Outpriced myself.

I dreamed that my dog was limp. I successfully brought him back from the dead by pressing on his heart with one finger and giving mouth to mouth resuscitation. Not too long before he was killed I was at work when everything was closed up and dark and he disappeared. I was screaming for him and panicking. I was afraid he had gone into a hole in a wall and wouldn't be found again. I was afraid he would be taken by ghosts. I think I was rushing to get to the country to where he ended up being killed.

Wow! I was priced out of the bay area but look! This place is unbelievable. I'm waking up from a dark dream and here I am. As much as I loved having a husband it doesn't work when you see that you've handed your dreams over to be tossed in the garbage because they are stupid. Why do I always hand them over? There is much to be said about being selfless and helping others realize their dreams, but that should be left to saints because they offer their pains up to God and they know how to work martyrdom.

Can't read when I eat or I'll forget to enjoy the food. Have to be able to look at the food and think about how it tastes or it just goes in and won't even be a memory. Lost my train of thought. Something was important but I can't remember what. Start over. Oh. There were little gold bell-shaped flowers all around my dog's grave. Only there. Plenty of other wild flowers all over but only found those particular flowers sprouting up from where he would be decomposing. Isn't that weird? They match the color of his fur. Little morbid?

A very sad dream. Was creating a collage out of meat. Planned to fill the open areas with blue for water. Realized the rabbits were still alive. Picked up the bigger one and held him to my chest. His eyes were looking at me. The little one had dyed pink fur and blue eyes. I held that one, too. There's more to the dream but to make it short a man was brutalizing a woman. She was screaming. Nighttime. I yelled but really did nothing more. He first was pulling her legs and now was trying to dislocate her shoulders.

Just churning out words. All of a sudden very sad. Loaded up the car with stuff for the country. Don't feel like writing. DSL was down all day. Trying to think of one positive thing to say. The sun was out yesterday. That's one. I found a book with an inscription inside-- to Gertrude from Anais. Did I spell Anais right? It really was Anais Nin and I like to think that the Gertrude is Gertrude Stein. Were they contemporaries? Forget where the book is. Maybe in the country. So much junk mixed in with so many precious things. Ha.

There are many books sitting around here that had so much meaning to me. can't remember why. I'd get stuck on a writer and have to keep buying all the books. Sometimes I had no idea what I was reading. Even by the end of the book I still had no comprehension. Nightwood by Djuna Barnes. I think I just liked the name Djuna and drama. Here's a bit of it: "and Jenny the bird, snatching the oats out of love's droppings—and I went mad." How do people come up with such clever phrases? Should read it again. Maybe.

Just read a story that I wrote a couple years ago. It started off ok but then just totally lost it. No sense. Written by a crazy person. I was drinking a lot of wine then. Ironically I drank wine tonight. Only did it because I have been putting on a bit of fat and I think it has to do with cutting down on wine. I think wine breaks up cellulite. I'm serious. There should be a study done on it if there isn't one already. I'm bringing my mother to the country with me tomorrow. She'll be bored.