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um.

i don't know where to start.

i don't know if i want to.

my apartment smells like meat. thank my brother for cooking at 3 in the morning with all the windows shut. so now everything else smells like meat - my coat, the towels, the couch, the cats...aye.

secondly - i'm wondering if i have a brain tumour. well, i know, i *always* wonder if i've got a brain tumour, but i have a bump on my head. it's not supposed to stick out, right? is it squooshy? i'm debating looking up some phrenology to see if this bump signifies my criminal or pathological nature. hell, something has to. i'm not sure otherwise where i seem to get it.

my head is also hurting right there. this is the part of the brain that deals with memory, cats fighting each other incessantly, schoolwork concerns, and the reception of the smell of meat.

ay ay ay. who knew this could all blow up in my face? who knew life was such hard work? i'm ready to throw in the towel and sit on the sidewalk picking at my head. i do it enough inside; why not get some fresh air?

this entry was going to be telling you that i was going to password protect for good. you could email me for a password. you still can, dear diary, and whenever that panic strikes, it will be the same password. and yes, i think it's time to move to that Other diary in the sand...

i made a mistake when i was writing about how this diary was meant to be private. it wasn't - ha! it can't. it was meant to be anonymous. and i think that's where it has been hard for socks. by ME not being completely anonymous, SHE is no longer anonymous. i'm still not used to thinkng for two. thinking for two very opposing viewpoints - how does one do that? resolve one's own identity with its very polar opposite? just when one has FOUND that identity, and has stood on solid ground with two feet...

ack.