I cleaned my kitchen tonight. Bleached the stovetop, scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed until it was white, spotless as fucking spotless can be, with one of those hard sponges I fought off savage grime and reestablished civilization. Order in the fucking kitchen, clean as clean can fucking be, and now I want to dirty something, myself.
Friday, December 13, 2002
I want sex. I put a card in Andrew's box Wednesday saying I was being forward, saying to call me. He has not. That makes me a little sad, but it's Andrew so I do not take too much offense to it. I saw him in the computer lab today in the midst of printing out my last two papers of this semester, in the midst of a joyous mood, that I was done with fucking school for a bit, for a couple of weeks. I smiled, said hi, and that was that. Open your stupid mouth, you fucking idiot. If you're not going to use it to make out with me, to fellate me, then at least goddamn motherfucking say something. That's what I want - and how I have allowed life to become so civil, to smile and say hi and not bite your fucking nose, I do not know.
at 10:41 AM