Tribulations � � � Wednesday, Mar. 05, 2003 * 00:42

I got all geared up to write, and now I have nothing to say. Because I've just seen this , and I no longer trust my vision or believe in anything that is holy.

This has been a fucked-up day. My cat scratched the shit out of me, and if you guessed Dmitri you're wrong. It was Mist. I was holding her in the dining room, and she casually glanced over her shoulder, saw the ceiling fan blades spinning, and proceeded to fucking spaz with all her might, and to then flail mercilessly while ripping chunks of flesh out of my hand. Then she ran three feet, stopped, parked her tiny self on the floor, and stared into my eyes longingly, as if to say "I wish you were still holding me." Idiot.

I look like Anthony Hopkins enjoyed my arm for an appetizer.

Does any of you watch 24? Oh, dear. You should. Tonight's episode was epic, it was sweeping, it was emotional, it was captivating, and yes Kiefer is the new hotness. But the shit's not going to be on for three weeks. I'm going to fucking strangle someone, I can't go that long without another episode. Fuck.

Justin called me tonight. That's my husband. I was so happy to talk to him. I miss him so much. We talked for 45 minutes, and I feel a lot less lonely now. Well, maybe I feel more lonely, because now I just want to talk to him more. Fuck that, I want to see him. Fuck you America, for engaging in bullshit wars with bullshit countries. I want my husband back. And just so you know, W., your troops are not behind you on this. They think this war is fucking crap, and they want to go back to their families. I'd like to see your pansy ass put a uniform on and swim to Iraq and have a swordfight with Mr. Hussein. Pay Per View event of the fucking century. Saddam would kick your ass.

You fucking cocksucker.