misty mornings.

it seems my fake attempts to write at least once a month have been reassured, and this post is clearly long overdue. a quick glance outside into the backyard has offered enough inspiration to at least tap out some meandering rant on something which has not made itself apparent to me yet, although intimated by the title above, typed first in this rare case, i suppose it has something to do with the mist.. or mornings.. or robotic puppies.

in any case the cold day has seemed to somehow pervade into my bones, imparting me with a feeling of sickly-ness that is becoming increasingly irritating this afternoon. my nose is stuffed, runny, and leaning my head back, i feel the slow flow of a slimy-slurry strolling from my sinuses into the back of my throat, which i promptly swallow. as i work on my cover letters, returning to the job hunt, i am reminded once more of the fox-trotting two-step of job-search-bureaucracy. sell oneself, sound motivated, but not eager, promote the organization, send follow-ups, thank you's, watch for typos, and don't mention longevity. the notion of the corporate whore flashes brightly in three neon signs framed by a glittering train of lights. i wish i had a job.

every so often while typing, or becoming sidetracked and wandering around, i am attacked by fits of sneezes, two each time in succession for some strange reason, and the thought of more pseudoephedrine sounds more and more appealing. then remembering the whole pseudoephedrine-causes-strokes scare, i suddenly think i shouldn't get too addicted too quickly. i wonder if meth users ever have stuffy noses... the ones who still have noses, or if meth-heads are more inclined to have strokes... the ones who can still feel their heads anyway. i think they would be much better off if they kicked the meth and bought some robotic puppies instead.

all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
: wilde.