It is the day before the day before New Year and emotions are running high and tempers are thin. I am feeling much better, thanks to the disgusting medicine I had to take. I think it was just chalk and water. It was also incredibly hard to take, a spoonful had to be put into my mouth to be swallowed with only a spoon supporting it. But I prevailed and am now much better. I think my stomach was just doing a clean out for New Year. I always told it you could never have too many clocks, but I guess it felt otherwise. Oh no, you don't think we're going to be divorced?! I love my stomach so, I am always sending it presents. Maybe it's jealous of my lungs, I mean I can barely go for a minute before I feel the overwhelming urge to send it another present, but I am always for getting to give old Clarence it's presents! I am constantly grateful that my heart is not so obsessive about presents as I always just let the others give it their hand me downs. Poor little Heather, working her little muscles and tissues out. Pumping little blood cells around, like the miracle worker she is. I love you heather. I also love that great big lump that keeps me together. What would I do without you? Yes, most likely splurt out everywhere. You're so clever. And I love what you've done with your new apartment, it looks fab. Well, you know what they say, a couple of throw rugs and you could call it home. And you did. But what is a throw pillow and why does it make you so compulsive toward calling a lump of inanimate objects stuck together home? You and your silly lumps of inanimate things that you call home. Remember pookie? Or was that a dream?

 In all of my (metaphorical) years of experience, I have found that really nice shoes are a good distraction. I don't mean the shoes that you see and go, 'Nice.' I mean the ones that everyone can detect on the shoe radar over three kilometres away. These shoes have got to be tops. They have to have at least five degrees in the most advanced things, things that most people cant even pronounce, they have to have six or seven rare artistic degrees, they have to have style, sophistication, modesty, charisma, class as well as being very happy in their married life, they have to help the poor and have 2.5 children on the way. Or they can be red. Either or really. It's just a matter of opinion.

Today I watched more TV, played the Sims 2 for a bit, went online, went shopping. It was a good day. Until the giant clam attacked and yelled at the earth about how it still loved her and how they could moke it work and how their children needed to know about their heritage and how the boys needed a clammy father figure.* *Note: this last sentence is a lie to make me look good. I am sorry to have been such a bad model for the children

 

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