Elizabeth Reed hates chicks with mom names.
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May. 26th, 2009 | 10:51 am
music: clap your hands say yeah - some loud thunder
Coming down from the high of love is almost as jarring as my Effexor experience. After a winning Memorial Day with Smelliot, I am giddy and restless. All I can think about is when we'll get to be together next. Isn't that silly? Really, it's so pervasive, it's as though everything I do is tainted with the stink of the smelliot. And speaking of which, he (very sweetly) offered to "stink up" one of my shirts for me, a faded red t-shirt proclaiming 'Lobsters Make Me Happy,' but alas, the smell is not potent enough for my needs.
My restless energy is, thus far, being honed for mostly good. Although, there has been a moderate amount of facebook stalking (and by that, I mean, looking at the profiles of all the girls who have recently friended him. In a word: insipid.) I'm trying to concentrate on the positive, focus on work and housecleaning and blogging, but as anyone who's been totally fucking in love can attest, it's pretty distracting.
Mina very sweetly invited me to the gym this morning, but I was in work mode and not in the mindset to walk directionlessly for 30 minutes. I will, however, have to get together with the demi-goddess soon, as she's one of the few people who can make me feel loved and pampered well enough to forget the dong. Regard:
And now, a shower before work and the pursuit of delicious gluten-free desserts...