I saw a severed bird head on my way to work. It looked like the little head had been ripped or cut from his body. It was horrible and lovely at the same time. While I enjoy picking up things off the ground to make my art pieces, this was something i had to pass up. I thought it would have be an amazing find for David Lynch, though.

How does a bird's head end up on the ground in front of the YMCA?

I know not.

I am a cowgirl princess. I am here to take the madness from all the cows.

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We bought calendars for the new year. 2004. 50% off. We walked past the dog section. Hell, I used to love dog calendars. I found mine in the 'Teen Interest' section. It was almost Hello Kitty with 75 stickers and pullout poster, but then I found Emily Strange and she was the last one of her kind. So I got her. None of this makes me very original.

You got Johnny Cash. I said it might be a little sad. You said why. I said cause everyday you look up and Cash is still there and Cash is still dead.

Someone had been shopping and left their pile of things in Borders... I don't know why they didn't finish the purchase. They were going to buy Belle and Sebastian's 'Boy with the Arab Strap', the bird documentary 'Winged Migration' and the new Death Cab for Cutie record. I figured the first two were a good comment on whether i would like the last thing, so I bought it. I love the Postal Service, but this is my first Death Cab for Cutie cd. Why isn't it as good as the Postal Service? Can you tell me if their other stuff is as good? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.

I bought a black skirt. Black with red stars. It is a size 18. And I haven't worn it yet. I worry. I worry worry that I will get too small for it before I get a chance to wear it. But I need tights to wear under it. I used to wear green tights with tiny white dots with all my skirts. That was the last time I was a size 18. That was 10 years ago. I wore pigtails then and combat boots. I miss those green tights.

I don't miss being younger. I am 30 and I love 30. I am so much younger than when I was 20. The new year is coming. I can hear it. I can feel it. It creeps along toward me like a slow train. Like I'm waiting on the tracks. Like I have been waiting forever. And I write and write and wait and wait.

I say hello to 2004. I am a gleaner. I have no resolutions because I am a gleaner. I have no resolutions because I'm already in the middle of them. I do not resolve. I do not regret my gleaning ways.

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He stands there every morning, looking down at me with his stern uncared for face. He is so old. He is so unloved. His park is not a circle, but a tiny slab of smelly grass.

No wonder he looks at me like that. He seems mad and bursting to tell me of the injustice of it all.

Daniel Webster's park stinks. Sometimes it smells so bad that I wonder what poor dead thing is hidden in the bushes.

Mr. Webster's park has fruit-bearing trees. But they are tiny sticky stinky fruits. Sometimes I step on them and they go squash. When the fruit are in season, short old asian women fill huge plastic bags with them. I wonder what they are making them into.

I used to think Mr. Webster had a bird on his head, like molded into the metal or whatever. But that was just a bird who happened to be there everytime I looked. Sitting there, on the man's head, like a freakish live hat. But today, Mr. Webster was hatless, birdless.

Birdless. Hatless. Ceaseless.

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I went to get sushi for lunch today because I was craving salty seaweedy fishy candy.

I got back to see that someone ordered from the site. This made me so happy! This is my third order this week, after a month of nothing at all. No bites at all. This makes me so happy. Have I said that already?

Last night, I was told I was an onion. I am an onion. I am an onion. I am an onion. Not smelly. Just peeling off parts.

Carrots are pretty. No. Really. Go look at some carrots. Amazing.

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