I WOULD ENJOY SLEEP. I TRULY WOULD.

After the last few days, one can only assume that this is where my brain should rightfully be...

MURPHY SNORES, AND I AM RESTLESS. LIFE IS INCREDIBLY EQUITABLE.

I cannot wrap my mind around the things that spurt out from my heart. Never have I been able to, and the future does not indicate any sudden change in direction (whether positive or negative).
I ache for so many differing things in this world. I wonder if people genuinely recognize that or simply find me to be a scattered mess of a being. Regardless, what hold should their opinions place upon me?

[Editor's Note: There's a part of me that breaks whenever Murphy sinks his unthinkably sharp teeth into my hand. The rationalist inside me stands incredibly aware of the fact that he means nothing by it, yet my emotional core is flimsy, convincing me that I am simply a pathetic and useless chew-toy to him. So, not incredibly useless. Merely pathetic. A much nicer scenario, I suppose.]

[Editor's Note to the Note: It's been a mother-effing long time since an Editor's Note. If I do say so myself. Which I do. Suck it, Trebek.]

There were days previous to this one when I could not cease the banter that scrolled through my brain. On a daily basis, one might fear actual words pouring from my eye sockets; they would dribble down my face, laced with quippy commas and inappropriately long sentences that might seem endless in their miserable quest for greatness mashed up next to literary unorthodoxy. Much like that one. My moments of self-indulgent conversation have not ceased (neither outside of my head via speaking aloud or scribbled on loose-leaf: the college ruled era), but they seem to deposit themselves in a much more infrequent and (undeniably) restricted manner. Is it adult-hood and its multiple layers of adult-y taboo that have quashed my desire to beguile my own presumptuous brain with erratic thoughts, or is it a self-imposed exile to a world where shutting down and ignoring that which propagates inside my lobes is totally okay, dude?
Four lttr wrds seem dumb. ToMe. Noww.

And...I have reverted back to that mind of a twelve-year-old. Ignorant, dispirited, and (luckily for this particular brand of Kelley) as incredibly self-righteous as any adolescent should ever dare to be.

Disgusting. Or, maybe just a step away from that. Yet to be determined, I suppose.
I suppose far too much. Maybe I should just decide every once in a while.
Maybe.
Gah.

MORNING. THIS MORNING, IN PARTICULAR.

I might, very easily if I do say, sleep for eight days at a time. The length of days in this example is quite insignificant, so long as it justifies my enormity of exhaustion. Why such exhaustion? That, dearest no-one, I cannot fathom.
I am incredibly aware that I should be readying myself in preparation for class this morning, but...
No. Not-so-much. I will attend, but that will likely be the extent of my participation. Too much has elapsed in the past seven weeks that has assured me of my minor educational success to have me fretting over the last two days of review and blather.
And now, I really have to leave. Truly. Genuinely.
I don't care.

CLICK, CLACK.

It is indeed a charming sort of feeling to look back and graze over old lives, stories, moments, memories. The egregious span of time between that which was present then and that which is present now brings out the literary longing in me. Life, I daresay, overstepped my anecdotal mind, leaving it tired and festering by itself, unwilling to scrape together three minutes of typing and wit and cynicism.
I seek to change that, I think.
Life and all of its many-faceted components have left me...speechless.

IT'S APRIL.

Worlds have passed and ideas have rotated hundreds, possibly thousands of times since I last logged my thoughts through this medium.

The semester, dare I say it, had weakened my intellectual cravings, diluted my desire to speak and write, specifically those things I would filter through without fervor or conviction. I would much rather allow this page to wallow in silence than to bolster it with gossip, meaningless blather, or topless Miley Cyrus photographs.

I am simply that classy.

My days have been no less successful since the time when I began writing of them. No more successful either, I suppose, but I'll take from it whatever I can.

With only one remaining semester of undergraduate studies, I am eager to push past the insignificance, and gear up for some volatile honesty. It's going to be hard, but I can feel my soul squirming for it. All realms of my live should exude nothing but passionate truth or yearning or enthusiasm. If it is not a positive force in my life, I will seek to rid myself of it. If I miss having it around, I will pull it towards me and pursue it with the greatest and most Edwardian of tactics.

More thoughts will follow at a later point, I suppose.

ADDING AND DROPPING.

This first week back has been inundated with more activity than I had witnessed in the past two months. Beyond physical limitations, I feared for losing of myself this semester, and in that realm, I am making strides that require a strong look at who I am, the talent I seek to possess, and the surging understanding that, at some point in my coming days, I will be forced to make a decision as to how I can best serve all masters of myself- the desire to be business minded, yet performance-ready, and other various "trade-offs."

I will not recognize the word "sleep" until late April.

THIS IS WHY WE'RE BFF.

Gosh, I love him.

HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME.

Twenty-one. Huh.
Well, this should be fun.

THIS WILL GET ME THROUGH THE EVENING.

Oh, I love them. Or, Jemaine. Yes. I love Jemaine.

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 2007, IN REVIEW.

If 2007 was our Lord's Year, then here are a few of his thoughts, summarized by the first and last words of each month. I'm refraining from video and pictorial evidence of said thoughts, simply because this will prove long enough as it is. Let's take a peek and see how things fit together:

JANUARY:

9th- Back.
22nd- I love her, I do.

FEBRUARY:

8th- It has been nearly an infinite amount of time since my last opportunity to post on this site, and the primary reasons for that, in descending order, are as follows:...
26th- Best part of the Academy Awards Ceremony. Ever.

MARCH:

7th- So, my kitty went blind last night.
30th- Yep.

APRIL:

1st- At some point in my life, I will vow to take a normal picture.
29th- When you got it, flaunt it.

MAY:

4th- I have a wonderfully mediocre job to subside my building enthusiasm toward self-propelled cryogenics until May 28th finally arrives.
28th- I am striving for exceptions today.

JUNE:

2nd- Groceries.
30th- It was brilliant. Incredibly simple, and utterly gripping.

JULY:

2nd- It's finally over- I've removed myself from the world of Tom's MySpace, solely for the fact that I never utilize it, fail to recognize its value, and have no desire for it any longer.
31st- I want Christopher Walken to make me juicy pear cookies. Right now.

AUGUST:

3rd- I hope there is a day coming along in which people will fail to take me for granted.
23rd- That boisterous smile shall not soon leave my head.

SEPTEMBER:

1st- I hate this time that leaves me less than senile to draw on life, previous experience, adorations, love, etc.
23rd- [Editor's Note: January 3rd. That's not too far away, right?]

OCTOBER:

1st- This is why Oak Lawn, Indiana, has won my heart.
31st- I'll let you know what happens.

NOVEMBER:

17th- I adore being a sixty year-old woman who watches Food Network for fun.
17th- Watch out for my cat.

DECEMBER:

18th- Surgery, the fall term, and life as I know it is...
27th- I am incredibly ready to be, once again, without my computer and full of worthwhile vitality.

The Year of our Homedawg Lord was pretty uneventful. Huh.

MY NOT-SO-THOUGHTFUL REFLECTION

If a normal individual can write out pertinent and viable information in one sentence, it would take me two. Two paragraphs, that is. I have never faced a lack of verbosity. I enjoy the utilization of words, the power they provide me with, and how ingeniously they hide my lack of contemporary thought. Not contemporary- perhaps enterprising is the adjective I am searching for.
The fact of the matter is simply that I cannot write a phrase out without concocting a more intrepid, vastly unnecessary, stream of babble to stand in false place for the things I will not possibly have hopes of devising in my mundane span of living.
Perhaps that is why I have evaded the use of this thing in previous months. It would seem merely a matter of exercising useless phrases, moreso than speaking to actual experience or legitimate livelihood.

I am incredibly ready to be, once again, without my computer and full of worthwhile vitality.

DECEMBER POST.

Surgery, the fall term, and life as I know it is...
OVER. Done with. Finished.
I have never had this many individual moments to myself, full and bursting with reflection, snoring, and lifting my arms no higher than my chin.
Life, as I have obviously learned by now, is infinitely strange.

If my computer finds itself in repair, I might have more writing capability, but time and budgetary restrictions will be the teller of such fates.

I have missed writing. Perhaps it has missed me. We'll have to reunite. Perhaps when I am less medicated.

THIS IS WHAT MY FROZEN WEEKEND LOOKS LIKE.

I adore being a sixty year-old woman who watches Food Network for fun.

I read Terrence McNally, and I watch Food Network.
Watch out for my cat.

THIS IS HALLOWEEN.

Huh.

I'm currently in a Lakeland hotel room, enjoying a grande olde-timey rounde of "CSI:NY" (which is, earnestly, too many initials for me to follow without utilizing actual brain power).
Why is this compelling in any way, shape, or form?
I'm with Gibby.


You can take a few seconds to let that sink in.




Okay. And- we're good.

Could this evening get much more awkward? Maybe with booze.
Oh, wait- she refused to get a drink at dinner because she thought it might illustrate "bad decisions" in front of her "charge."
And then we almost died in traffic. And watched "Hairspray" for two dollars each.

There are very few linguistic phrases in the English language that truly lend themselves to describe this experience for me, and I still can't decide on one to use. Some include vulgarity, others irrational turns of phrase.
I just don't know.

She's asleep, now. And CSI has fifteen more minutes left. I'll just turn the volume down. After all, what if I don't stick around for what Gary Sinese has just spent forty-five minutes trying to decipher?! The evening will be lost.

I'll let you know what happens.

IF DREAMS THERE BE...

It appears that this evening remains trivial and trying, no matter how much I seek to give it romance or fire that I so earnestly miss.

Goodnight, my someone; whether you care or not, I still think of you.

DUMBLEDORE IS GAY.

This article just made my morning. Oh, lordy, this is amazing:

J.K. Rowling Outs Hogwarts Character.
By HILLEL ITALIE, AP National Writer
2 hours, 21 minutes ago

NEW YORK - Harry Potter fans, the rumors are true: Albus Dumbledore, master wizard and Headmaster of Hogwarts, is gay. J.K. Rowling, author of the mega-selling fantasy series that ended last summer, outed the beloved character Friday night while appearing before a full house at Carnegie Hall.

After reading briefly from the final book, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," she took questions from audience members.

She was asked by one young fan whether Dumbledore finds "true love."

"Dumbledore is gay," the author responded to gasps and applause.

She then explained that Dumbledore was smitten with rival Gellert Grindelwald, whom he defeated long ago in a battle between good and bad wizards. "Falling in love can blind us to an extent," Rowling said of Dumbledore's feelings, adding that Dumbledore was "horribly, terribly let down."

Dumbledore's love, she observed, was his "great tragedy."

"Oh, my god," Rowling concluded with a laugh, "the fan fiction."

Potter readers on fan sites and elsewhere on the Internet have speculated on the sexuality of Dumbledore, noting that he has no close relationship with women and a mysterious, troubled past. And explicit scenes with Dumbledore already have appeared in fan fiction.

Rowling told the audience that while working on the planned sixth Potter film, "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," she spotted a reference in the script to a girl who once was of interest to Dumbledore. A note was duly passed to director David Yates, revealing the truth about her character.

Rowling, finishing a brief "Open Book Tour" of the United States, her first tour here since 2000, also said that she regarded her Potter books as a "prolonged argument for tolerance" and urged her fans to "question authority."

Not everyone likes her work, Rowling said, likely referring to Christian groups that have alleged the books promote witchcraft. Her news about Dumbledore, she said, will give them one more reason.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

I AM GETTING TO BE A CAT LADY.

Regardless, this cartoon is Murphy. The end.

HE IS DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY CRAZY.

Regardless, I love him to death.




Yeah. He's the cutest damn thing ever. Don't dispute me.

I'M ON THE K-LIST.

I've been solidly planted on my rear end for several half-hour-periods, merely basking in the glow of that which is "Kathy Griffin- My Life On The D-List."
I wish I could spend my life being as incredibly vain and self-absorbed, but I can't. Luckily, I can waste my time watching her.

Oh, jeebus.

CONSTRICTION.

Every extremity I possess feels numb in this barrage of moments I'll call "today."

There's no definitive reason for it; I am merely stagnant, stuck in place, and devoid of some passion to loosen life's grip upon me.
My eyes refuse to focus. They sit, pale and frightened of physical revolution.
In earnest, I would use them to smile, but there's nothing behind it. I am unhinged.

Unhinged in a good way, I think.