I just realized the odd coincidence that anyone that I've ever really, really fallen for has had at least 3 inches of scars somewhere on them.

Now, I didn't know that before, so it's not like I'm seeking out someone with that history; it's just pure chance.

Me, I keep my scars on the inside.

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I had the first memorable dream in ages: I was telling a graphic design company in a really tall, tall building, that they didn't want to make a deal with the major newspaper in my town because it would require too much upfront cash from them for unknown return, when a giant earthquake struck.

The interior framework of the building was exposed, and during the quake I could see it bending and folding, nearing collapse. It pretty much scared the crap out of me.

I'd never want to be in a tall building during an earthquake. Safely built or not, the swaying would freak me out.

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I was reading in another person's blog (The esteemed John Allison of Scary Go Round) that he wasn't going to blog much until he had something non-complaining to say in it.

I understand the feeling on the one hand, because I didn't intend this blog to be an agony aunt for every little niggling inconvienance of my life, most of which are pretty minor on life's scale of unfortunate occurances.

But on the other hand, sometimes it's better to shout at the wind than burden someone else, who's got their own live to deal with, with my issues.

It's certainly more fun to write about other stuff, however.

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Nothing wakes you up in the morning like the overcranked volume of the car stereo you left turned all the way up to 11 the night before.

Except spilling a hot drink in your lap as a result of said ear-drum shattering music.

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Since they say,"Leave them with a joke," I'll steal one from Defective Yeti:

Person 1: Knock knock.

Person 2: Who's there?

Person 1: Control freak.

Person 1: Now you say "control freak who?"