the time has come.

tomorrow, i am getting a fish.

y'all remember fabolous, our wonderful third roommate from the richmond years: if you don't, here's a picture.

see him there, mugging for the camera? god, i miss fabolous. and i think it has taken me this long to really finish the grieving process, but i think it's time to move on, and i think another fish is just the thing that 2131, Apt 4 needs. our new fish will love it here!

charles is on some trip about how we need multiple fish, and lots of pumps and filters and a tank and whatnot, but that's not happening. as fabolous taught us, all you need is one fish, a kick ass fishbowl, the name of a hip-hop artist and...love. oh, and maybe a gallon jug of spring water, but that's easy to come by.

as for the new fishies name, i'm going wu-tang with this one and naming him 'bobby digital'. i'll hit the blog up with some pics of our new addition tomorrow.

31.

"wait. are you an aquarian? i dated an aquarian once. she was a nightmare."
-one of my co-workers, on finding out it was my birthday.

yeah, that about sums it up. we aquarians can often pose, sort of a, uh, um...problem. basically because we are fucking weirdos. that's how that goes. and i think that, personally, my aquarianism comes fully to bear on everything as my birthday approaches, and so, as i have said before, february is the cruelest month.

i don't even know what to do with me at this point; i am so beyond the point of a complete and all-encompassing swan dive off the deep end of everything that i get exponetially more depressed even trying to consider how to go about extracting myself from the depths of my brain. right about now is when you are realizing what all that "aquarians are nuts" stuff was about above, and thanking god that you can simply move on to another web page with barely the flick of a wrist. poor charles has to live with me. think about that.

so, basically, since i can't attempt to figure anything out without frying all of the circuitry, i have moved on to simply observing certain things about myself, in sort of a half-amused, half-horrified detatchment, which is only detatched until i realize that it is, in fact, attached, and more importantly, is ME and then i resume the swandive. oh lordy.

one of the things that i have observed in these sort of cigarette-break style reprieves from my mania, is that i carry on important conversations about difficult topics as if i am conducting a choose-your-own-adventure-type activity. i am always thinking eight steps ahead, and weighing what might be the response if i say this, and if i say that what it could potentially be construed to mean, times a billion, and if so, what i would say to that, and so on and so forth, until i realize that i have not actually said anything for some time, and now have the implications of THAT to deal with. i am an idiot.

i don't know what my deal is, other than to say that this has happened before, most often when i am spending this godforsaken month in the deep freeze that is winter in new york city. it's fucking brutal out there, man. everything is freezing, the streets, the air, the people. it sucks. and i am just trying to hang on and make it through without fucking anything up too badly. i spend a good part of my day devising plans to keep my head from exploding, but it always seems to anyway, the excuses are just to numerous, and my defenses against self-malignment are completely ravaged.

not to mention that i turn thirty-one today and for some reason suddenly have a huge problem with it. i have never been one to place any emphasis on age; i have never looked at any of my birthdays with dread or shame, but for some reason this one inspires both. it's so...unsymmetrical. 31. ugly, timid, unimportant. barely anything at all. but yet everything, because there's no doubt i'm in my thirties now. there are only eight left! eight! what the fuck is that about? yeah, try as i might, i don't like this at all. i'm gonna have to figure something out though, 'cause i can't go on feeling like this all year.