in which i eat the tardis

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Got a fun package in the mail today. I guess this is what happens when you introduce your friends — especially ones who enjoy giving gifts and baking things — to Doctor Who.

My friend Stephanie has been texting me for a little over a month now as she watches the show. I’ll get text messages in the middle of the night that say things like, ”My brain just broke. I can’t brain today . . . I have the dumb,” “Oh Frick. Oh balls. Oh fup!”, and “This show is breaking my soul.” I also get nifty presents in the mail, like this TARDIS cookie jar I got for Christmas, and today, these cookies I got to fill it:

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everything is the worst

For about the past year, my roommate Alison and I have had this thing we say. We pop it out at random, and it’s good for all occasions. We don’t know where it came from; it just sort of happened. Speaking it out loud makes us feel momentarily at peace with the universe, as if being in total agreement that there is nothing good in the world takes away the blame. It’s not our fault. Everything is just the worst.

Alison also happens to be my life partner; that is, until she moves in some day with her boyfriend and leaves me all alone and pathetic, or until I leave her to move to Seattle or California, or to become some sort of cloistered nun in what would ultimately be a futile gesture of rebellion against the system that imprisons me: rage against the machine, ghost in the machine, a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, whatever. Anyway, we’re at this stage in our lives where we pretty much wallow in our own misery and reinforce each other’s general senses of being absolutely good for nothing, in what we like to call “society.” Both of us majored in Creative Writing in college, which is where we met (that should tell you something right there), and we like to think of ourselves as gentle flowers sitting in the sun, or like sensitive little antennas on a roof, because basically we pick up a lot of feelings and we feel a lot of feelings, but we are completely useless at anything else worth doing. Both of us are stuck on life-paths (for the moment) that make us very unhappy. She works a dead-end food service job that doesn’t appreciate her and basically makes her feel subhuman, and I’m at the other end of the spectrum, attempting to fit in with people who spend their days cultivating their large brains. She serves coffee to ungrateful shitheads and I spend my days alone, studying for exams and grading papers and writing papers and reading so many words, never fully paying attention to any of it, and generally feeling inferior as a result. Neither one of us is good with money, we’re up to our ears in debt, and neither one of us has any fucking clue what to do about it.

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I AM SPARTACUS

Had lunch with two good friends today whom I rarely see. It was fun and lovely to see them, but the restaurant had paper table cloths. This was their first mistake. Their second was being slow and giving me time to do this:

In case you couldn’t tell, this is a dramatic representation of a scene from Spartacus: Blood and Sex Sand. This is real, people. I didn’t make it up. And you know what? I feel no guilt. Sometimes you just need to get pornographic in a fancy restaurant. I’m especially proud of the tiny exposed boobie. The staff probably made fun of it after I left, so I was really just providing a public service, if you think about it.

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