Nope, not a fan of money. I'm a bad capitalist.

I'm sitting here, up at 1:38am (which is not unusual for me but tonight i've a sorry excuse as to why), doing things like creating crazy journal accounts randomly, and waiting for my damn paycheck to transfer automatically to my damn bank account so that i can transfer some damn money to quit being overdrawn (damnit). Unfortunately i've been LIED TO and it's still not there an hour and a half after it was supposed to be. Geez, Louise.

I'm pretty tired. (Every time i say that i think of "Forrest Gump." It is good. And it means that movie is in the back of my mind at all times.) I think i should stop typing right now and just go to bed. I'm waking up in less than three hours so I know i should go.

I've been working the graveyard shift at my work once a week lately. We unload the truck and since i work in a framing retail shop all of our merchandise is heavy, and we're always getting way too much of it. This here be the relevance: my hands are changing. They look strong now, an odd mixture with their relatively small size; my veins have become prominent. I can't stop looking at them as i type.

Hands to me are a fascination. I shake other people's hands for kicks. (Though i'm usually repentant at the occasional disconcerted expression, i've yet to change my ways.) I believe that the most beautiful part of the human body is the crevice the thumb bone creates when flexed. (It's prettier done than said.) I stare at them in all of their gesticulating wonder when animated people talk and must remind myself to make eye contact. They, to me, are a distraction. But since i couldn't tell you just what from, i see no reason to remedy the situation. I think the whole thing is pretty swell anyway.

I suppose i will fall down somewhere now, close my eyes and call it sleep.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (5/13/04)

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