It’s as if I have a disease and instead of my cells, it’s eating my personality.

I’m being paid to be a lesbian today. This sounds like I answered the sort of advert that lurks blank faced in the back of the newspaper, but the sky outside is dull dirty gray and repels my usual humour. Instead, as I wake, it reminds me of my tumbling stomach and the basic human need for food. I want to go tear out the throat of a rabbit and drink its life like an angsty neo-sapien. That I’m going to be paid to hit on girls in front of a camera isn’t really impacting. My hair is 80’s rock star huge and I’m trying to care enough to debate make-up. Which begs my asking if I even have any that’s appropriate. It’s unlikely. There’s tiny spots of blood crusted in my hair, which tell me I was wounded at some random point last night, there must be a cut somewhere, the company I was expecting for part way has abandoned me, I suspect that as an adult, I should get used to hit and run, and I’ve yet to have a proper meal in two days. Brush this off, however, I’m sure. I’m merely having a bad morning.

self reminder: bring SIN card to the set. If I forget, there might be problems.

I have that crippling fear of If I Leave the House Today I Will End Up in The Wrong Place. It’s vague, but it’s faintly irritating me. I’m going to blame emotional instability. It’s rare but when it hits, oh my stars and garters, does it pull deep. “The scary thing about you is that you mean to do all you’re doing.” I’m still not doing well. The brain is loathing all that hurt piling up. My heart isn’t as sturdy as I’m good at making it be. The damned world has been throwing me bones with splinters in. I don’t ask for anything fair, I ask there to be balance and redress. I ask that we try some before we refuse to buy on the basis of cold winter nights. It’s been a month since I was kept up at night by anyone interesting, I’m obviously failing at being young again. The youngest centennial, that isn’t me. I sit on the curb after getting out of the cab and speak words alone into warm early morning. Why is there nobody here? I’m always coming back to this box, but it’s not like there’s ever been anyone here.

a robot film, short
a robot film, dannybo(y/t)
a robot contest for the most impressive looking laser-wielding, earth destroying robot
a picture of a robot

Also, a partial explanation as to why Nicholas was continually declaiming Exeunt! on his Vancouver visit.