A Fine, Biting Snow Across the Fields

In lieu of original entries, which I seldom find myself capable of creating, I'll get started by rifling through some colorful pre-medication entries from my website's journal.

I.e.:

May 8, 2005

rayna, here is your happy birthday message:

you are very probably made of up of small dead children who died very happy deaths, but are still very nostalgic for their happy baby lives. you might subsist solely on the hearts and souls and vaginas of seriously hot fifteen year old girls. and i know that when you are an old woman, you will have a cane so you can whack the backs of the knees of school children as they scamper past you on the sidewalk.
congratulations on existing, subsisting, and growing older and closer to your inevitable caning future.
yours,
emilyn.

p.s. this is a picture of you and me in brain’s car on the way to jersey that day that you realized how awesome i was, and that day that i realized that you didn’t need to give me panic attacks anymore because you are superbly awesome (even though they didn’t really subside until like six months ago).

...

And so on. This will prove to be a cattle prod up the tookus of my creativity.