so much, so little. the story goes, around and around and around. i wonder if the sarcasm; the intentional over-dramatics is noticeable? in here. i wonder if that black skirt from old navy will still be there tomorrow? size 1's are always the first to go and the last to end up on sale. it's the only fashion woe we skinny people should ever bitch about. now, to be short-we shorties, have an abundant assortment of, understandably merited, complaints: jeans made only for amazon women, knee length skirts that make us look like pentecostal hobbits, and the annoying size 0 dress that places the boob slots on our tummy instead of, ahem, our boobs.

you should see my little sister, she's pratically a foot taller than me and painfully attractive. i've never been one easily prone to jealousy (zip it, mister.) but about jr. high, when the boys in my class would tease me-accusing me of needing a phone book to see over a car dashboard or placing text-books under my dangling mary jane adorned feet as i sat studiously in my desk, i often thought of my little bigger sister, and bitterly inquired the almighty if he had accidentally given the little bigger some of my birth right inches. when tenth grade rolled around, that hot pubescent august, not only had i finally cleared five feet, become a woman, but i also let my schtick over the height heist go; i finally had boobs, and after endless lonely summer days spent on the texas tornado and the conquistador whilst my friends whipped past me on speeding and flipping carts, i could alas ride the flashback too.

the boys had a new target anyways: a red headed pistol equipped with sticks and stones, and daddy's money to hide her pain in. she and me, somehow always ended up in saturday morning detention together. i remember my other girlfriends would come waltzing into bible class on monday morning; gloating quietly, the lucky gal would pass a note under the desk revealing in scribbled penmanship the three hours spent in detention flirting with hottie so and so. me on the other hand, i never once in my countless saturday morning hanging out in the school cafeteria, had the chance to hang out or play footsy with one of the cute boys. just with the problem child, footsy excluded.

it was problem child that first introduced me to the world of tongue rings and atheism. we would pass the early morning hours writting poetry and bouncing philosphical ponderings from the pop machine. she had a dark sense of humor and i loved edgar allen poe. i imagined one day she would dedicate her life to satan as prank and end up in hell for all eternity. instead, problem child ended up pretty normal-wearing designer jeans and showing up at every "it" show. one would find it hard to believe that once upon a christian highshool, she was such the problem child in saturady morning detention, every week.

earning saturday morning detention wasn't difficult, let the record show. three or more tardies and your ass was theirs. punctuality has never been one of my stronger attributes, but as the years have progressed, i've gotten much better. mrs.king would be proud, dare i say. but it all depends. i don't really think that with me, character traits such as punctuality or perservernace has anything, or much, to do with a lack of strength, but with my inability/disdain to prioritize between instances such as: a quick stop at starbucks for a much needed espresso versus getting to work on time. i've learned the hard way to know thyself; and with such inner insight, i know i'll stop for the espresso everytime, and thus, i know to organize my time in such a way that i am able to afford every insufferable whim of mine. i've heard, knowing and understanding your opponent is one of the key elements in winning strategic games such as chess. not suprisingly, i've found that i am my own worst enemy. classic plot for a tragedy, or a comedy.

i've gone on much longer than i anticipated: waiting, hoping that jon would call me back and help me fix a computer glitch so that the burning of all cds may begin. i've worked way too hard- clicking incessantly on "import", clicking repeatedly "get track names", then to "create new folder", and for the love of god: typing in the band and album names! most of the pirating was to be for him anyways. how can a man live without northern soul and grace? two of the best albums of our time! this is intervention, a requested intervention at that. and me, my diet is lacking some most neccesary iron and wine. though i'm pretty confident that some damien rice, neutral milk hotel, velvet underground, pilot drift( a little n.s with alot of o.s), and the likes will comfortably quell my appetite for the time being.

for no other reason, but another.

where did we all go?!? drifting off into space; into spaces of space, with our secrets, and longings-desperate for meaning and literal for substancial intention. like others. we take our grins, our double meanings, and create some sort of percieved verve; and, in the soft perplexity of chaffing engagements and clicking clocks, shall disappear into never never land.

the end.