Crawling my way out of the grave.

This is officially the end of blackgarden. It's nearly nine years to the day since my first entry, and to me, this journal represents a person who no longer exists.

If anyone remembers me, and still wants to know me, you can now find me at shesaspiral. :D

Comments written by teachers on my grade-school report cards proclaim me to be a superstar!

Just so you know. :D

The office radio is playing Arcade Fire's "Intervention", one of my favorite songs of the year. Hearing favorite music in mediocre places is one of life's modest pleasures, like socks fresh out of the dryer... or sneaking in a journal post on company time. It's a mild hit of euphoria, the perfect dose for blank-faced work mode.

Tony Wilson has died.

I really don't know what to say. He ought to be canonized.

... Hi!

Here's what I have not done in the last week: Thanked people for birthday gifts, responded to comments, picked up my room, cleaned out my car, washed my sheets, changed my calendar, gone shopping for work clothes.

Here's what I have done: Received as a birthday gift The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman and have done little beyond reading. I both thank and curse cinnamonblood for sending it, because I'm so impossibly hooked, and it's extremely difficult to do things like sleep, eat, change out of my pajamas, and go to work. I'm not finished with it yet, but I've been reading until the book literally falls from my hands, until I'm physically incapable of gripping it any longer. Or until I pass out and wake up at three in the morning with my light still on and the book across my pillow.

When that book is done, I expect I'll be spending another few weeks shut in my room, thanks to briel, who gave me The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I've heard nothing but raves about this book, and I'm eager to read it, especially as Briel says it's one of her favorites. Exciting! Yay for addicting books.

In non-hermit news, justbluemyself and I are going to see Lily Allen tonight. ... Oh. I suppose I should stop journalling and figure out when we'll be going.

So, rule: No touching the book again this afternoon. Not until I'm clean and dressed at least.

Elizabeth! Thank you so much for the book!

I woke up this morning and read about a Chinese eunuch who, on advice of a physician, ate the brains of seven criminals to restore his missing manparts.

It was far too early for brain-eating eunuchs; I try to put that off 'til I've had breakfast, at least. So thank you, Elizabeth -- you went there, and you went there spectacularly. :D

And in case you were wondering, no, it didn't work.

I've been considering ditching this journal -- closing it up and sticking it in a Target-bought plastic storage bin on the floor of my closet -- and moving into a fresh new journalspace. I've been unable to stop feeling so disconnected from my pre-surgery life. But -- and I know I've said this before -- I am trying to reconnect with my life and the pieces of it that I've neglected.

For example, music. Even with bills to be paid, I've realized it's important to find the funds to regularly treat myself to new music, because it really helps ground me in my essential blackgardenness.

I had to have the new Arcade Fire when it came out, and it's reminded me how reliant I always was on exciting new music. So like everyone else with working ears, I'm completely in love with Neon Bible. I've tried to play other CDs in the last week, but nothing else takes. Always go back to Neon Bible. I play it in the car. I put it on before I go to bed. At work, when all I've got to listen to is soft rock radio, I daydream of "Intervention" to uplift my spirits. I find myself thinking of a time I'd be alone and could slip it into my dad's Bose soundsystem; I fantasize about how amazing it would sound on such a high-quality system, and how exciting it'd be to just lie on the floor with the volume up.

Clearly there is something obsessive about this behavior, but I trust that it'll pass eventually.

Speaking of obsessive, I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow night without Heroes. For the last several weeks, I've actually looked forward to the end of the weekend, because Monday night meant Heroes! The eight o'clock hour on Monday was the longest stretch of time all week. I loved the first half of Heroes' season, but the show has become absolutely obsessable since it returned in January. And now, NBC takes it away and replaces it with an extra hour of Open the Suitcase or Not? Cruel!

Tomorrow, I'll have a story (and pictures) of a dog in socks.

I'm so thrilled with Abigail Breslin's Supporting Actress Oscar nomination! I wish the entire Little Miss Sunshine cast had been nominated for stuff. Especially Steve Carell, because he is was wonderful.

And now... Notes from my Inbox.

Dear Amazon.com Customer,

We've noticed that customers who have expressed interest in The Queen is Dead by The Smiths have also ordered Headstrong by Ashley Tisdale. For this reason, you might like to know that Headstrong will be released on February 6, 2007.

As you'll recall, my webcam was made in 1972 and may actually steal a bit of your soul to render into its grainy snapshots. This explains why, in every shot of me, I appear to be a vacant husk, sans soul or any but the tiniest spark of life.


After the surgeries and healing time, my hands have turned out looking pretty strange. Tiny, with too much skin left over from covering now-gone muscle mass, covering the lumpy, sinewy muscle remaining. Like monkeys' paws or little old lady hands or rotting fruit.


I tried to get pictures, but these images are like pixel mosaics. Really doesn't capture it sufficiently.


Behind this cut are ( vague representations of the things that ruined my life! )



I guess I'm still kind of in awe that this messed-up thing is part of me.