3 garbage bags and numerous grunts and profanities later and 4 years of school papers and shoe boxes and junk junk junk are removed from my room. my walls are bare and look as if they were victims of a driveby shooting, for pushpin after pushpin were forced into them repeatedly. it's ugly, but i only have to live in it 'til sunday

my strange addiction to even numbers has ended, and i've begun concentrating on 5. one thing about me that annoys me like there is no tommorow is my need to constantly be counting. if i have a conversation with you i will be counting things on your face. your eyes will be three (pupil, iris, white), your lips will be two, and then i count those things over and over again until i move onto something else, like freckles or scars or stray hairs. that is only one example. anyway, lately everything i've been counting has been in 5 and the fact that there were 11 freckles on a cashiers face was driving me insane because i could not make a 5 count work. i couldnt even look at him, i just stared at my hands because my 3 bracelets, my watch and my ring made 5 and i could calm down

all day i've been randomly going to the moving units site just to hear the beginning of "between us and them". it's easier than finding my cd's

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