Andare, Partire, Tornare

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Kill me now. I mean it.

I would like to slowly, and in four/four rhythm, beat my head against a wall until this day just GOES AWAY. It started out fairly normally, but then degenerated when I received a voice mail call from Harpy Mother of Roommate, claiming that I had agreed to make payments to her on the first and fifteenth (I didnít, I told roommate that Iíd send her a check whenever I could, and she agreed), plus hassles with Air Tran airlines, which charged my momís credit card ten times for my ticket, and then told me that the card had been declined, and the straightening out of which has resulted in me spending most of my day on hold, listening to sales pitches and bad Muzak until I wanted to put my letter opener into my ear and bear down.

The consequences of all this is that my stomach is in a giant pretzel knot, and I want to punch something. Or faint dead away and let the world go past for a few minutes without me.

On the other hand, I did talk the ceramics curator into declining these two horrid baby-poop green oversized toby jugs, so the day was not a total waste.

If somebody out there is pondering giving me a million bucks, I could sure use it right about now.

3:37 p.m. - 2004-04-20

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