i don't feel uncomfortable attending cinematic hodgepodge alone anymore. though van helsing was hardly the film in which i'd've liked to come to such an epiphany. c'est la vie. sleeping alone feels more like brilliant accomplishment than accidental blunder. this bed, this bed here... it's mine, all MINE. and the soundtrack to our lives in a mixture of karen o.'s gaspy screaming ["cos iiiiii'm richchchchch."] and loretta lynn's calling-us-to-sloe-gin-fizzes&confronting-the-other-woman new album ["bring out the babies' daddy, it's him they came to see, not the woman who's burning down our family tree."] and loretta has always held a special place in my heart [simple turn of phrase. simple turn of phrase.] since we share a birthday. and we're both coal miner's daughters. (well, i'm the son of an iron ore miner's daughter's daughter... but let's not get so nit-picky.) where was i? oh yes, not needing anybody... rightly oh. i don't need anybody. and the accuracy of such a statement can be gauged on one's own time. and one can certainly contest such remarks. but when i convince myself of something... there ain't no stopping the stubborn, pigheadedness. so would the bleeding hearts please move to the otherside of the room? and having said all that...

i'm pretty sure i'm terribly lonely underneath it all. but such does not matter when only [thick]skin[ned]deep.

not that i ever wasn't.

it's just that a few too many know that i am not.

and that's hardly acceptable.