It's that time of year again. That time of year when Howie tries to makes babies w/the chickens, my leg, my arm.... I was trying to walk back into the house and he had attached himself to my pant leg. I reached down to nudge him away and he took the opportunity to grab my arm. I now have a very red mark in the shape of a circle which kinda looks like ringworm.

Yes, Howie. I love you, too.

I start working at the library on Sunday. Part of me is happy I'll be able to afford albums and lip gloss and the other part is terrified.

I don't think I'm ready to serve the public.

What if I royally fuck up?

Will I be able to keep my comments to myself when some old man makes a pass at me?

What's the Dewey decimal number for biographies? 92? What about health?

Would it be bad work ethic to show up for my first day, shnockered?

Oh, shit, I have pimples.

This sleeping pill is making me woozy.

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