Stress Factor

Stress Factor

Nothing makes me more tense than having someone repeatedly tell me to relax. I keep trying to impart this bit of information to H.E., but sometimes he’s so busy telling me to relax that I start to freak out and insist, “I’m relaxed! I’m relaxed already!” Yeah, and of course I have tension in my voice as I try to convince him that I’m fine and I don’t need to be told to chill, but the tension only prompts him…

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Time To Book

Time To Book

I started packing my books this weekend. I love having them, but they’re a pain in the butt to move. You never know how many you have until you put them in boxes and haul them out. And, wow. Do I have a lot. I have books I haven’t even gotten around to reading yet, books of all genres—history, classic literature, math, language theory, how-to—books I bought with every intention of reading. Vonnegut. Faulkner. Djuna Barnes? I even have Le…

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I Should Just Change My Last Name To Murphy

I Should Just Change My Last Name To Murphy

The notice to move out wasn’t so bad after all. I managed to find another place in the same area for just a little bit more, and yesterday I gave the landlord most of my pitiful savings for a security deposit. *Sigh* The new computer will have to wait another year or two. This morning, on my way to work, my car died in the middle of the street. I had to run back home and call for a tow….

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Love Affair with a Lizard

Love Affair with a Lizard

I haven’t been doing the aliens lately because I’ve been letting loose with a lizard. Meet Loowis. He is just one of the many reasons why I never got around to making an Easter egg stereogram, like I’d planned, or writing up another tutorial, like I’d promised. But how could I resist a lizard with Jack Nicholson-like charm and a perfect ballet second position turnout? Soon, though, I’ll be back to doing cats, then aliens. In art, I mean. Share…

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I’m a Hot Potato With Sour Grapes and Chides

I’m a Hot Potato With Sour Grapes and Chides

I haven’t been feeling myself lately—though I probably should, as it’s bound to make me feel better—but ever since I got that 60-day notice to move out, I feel as though I’m treading the Pacific. For every two steps forward that I take, I get pushed back one and three-quarters. From 1996 to 2001, I changed jobs every year, and now that I’ve been at a stable job for almost three years, I annually find myself in a new living…

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