omg i am dying

there won't be any stories up in the near future.  it is fucking a billion degrees, and doing anything more than "sweating to death" is too much effort.  you said the trades would be back last week, kanoe.  there were no trades.  today you're like, "whoops!  honolulu didn't have a record, but the other islands did!"  make the sky suck less, kanoe.

i'm also thinking (once it cools down and i can catch up some) that i should start making story "traps."  the idea is that once i have the outline finished, i schedule that as a blog post for a year in the future.  then, if i slack off and don't write the story in that year, the outline just goes up and i admit that i'm bad at this.  i think that provides a bit more incentive to actually sit my butt down and write some.

which i would have today during the hours of nothing to do that i spent dying from the heat.  i'm going to blame the heat for why this morning's dream stories were all horror when i intentionally went back to snooze expecting sexy-fun dreams.

and i was dumb on friday night and logged in to a dating site i haven't used in years, and immediately got a message that i've been ignoring.  i should really have a pre-written "i'm sorry that i'm terrible at being a human being" note to send when that happens.

how mental illness is just a fucking asshole.

me: "let's watch stuffs!"
my youtube video: "hi! i could play, but instead i'm going to auto pause because this is how youtube works now.  sometimes we play a playlist all the way, sometimes we just show a few videos then stop.  just how we're doing things now!"
mental illness: "you know, if you cut your arms open, you could probably make that video play without clicking.  just a few slices.  you know.  air out that blood.  exercise it a bit."
me: "what?"
mi: "DEATH!"

so yeah.  sorry.  this is the constant fuzz i fight with everyday.  sorry.

have i told this new story?

read this first.

i'm visiting my friend again, who's now on the west coast, so it's all new and exciting to visit a new place.  but hawaii to mainland flights are scheduled at "impossible o'clock," so i get in at like 5am.

since she's super smart and loves sleep, she sends her husband to pick me up.  but at some point, he needs something from the glove box.

i legitimately can't remember what it was.  phone charger?  maybe?

whatever it was, it doesn't matter, because sitting next to the car book thing is my knife.

again.

it's super dirty, and the one rubber "stabby grip" that was always loose is gone, but when you've known a knife like i have, you'd recognize it anywhere.

"Yeah, that's it," he says as he grabs whatever it was and then the box is closed and i'm sitting there half stunned fighting jetlag as we drive home.


i kind of want to send her a note and ask that she take my knife out and drop it in the ocean.  give it to the whales to sort out.  whales are smart, right?  they'll do the right thing.