Dirty Little Secrets: It Could Be Cancer

"You've gotta love days like this, if for no other reason than that no one else will." - T.O. Hob

"Hey, it could be worse. It could be cancer." - Palomba

Fantasy?

I waiver.

Mind Games. Bottle Rockets. Evil Pickle. Aflac.

Aflac girl called me the other day about the bill. If she wasn't drop dead gorgeous I would still be thrilled to hear from her. She has an amazing voice. Whenever she calls she says, "Hey Chris." in this elongated half lilting sing song sort of way with just enough huskiness to make it more than sweet, and just enough sweetness to make it irresistible. I'm not easily flustered, but I think I blush on the phone. This girl has her act down, she seriously has one of the three most beautiful voices I have ever heard (the others being the one that reminds me of tiny tinkling bells and which I will never hear again, and the other theo one with a soothing/saving quality with which she could say the most amazing things.) I'm seriously considering not paying next month's bill on time just so she has to call me...I wonder what she would sound like angry.

I can be such a perv.

In other news...I'm working on what's going to be my last work related entry. After this big one coming up there will be no more than a passing mention of work or the occasional work related anecdotes. No more rants. I've just had enough. Work has been hellacious lately, taking up 20 hour chunks of my day and leaving me with little time to even think of anything else. And my dad's becoming quite the asshole.

I just finished reading Sean Wilsey's memoir "Oh! The Glory of It All." and I have to say I was really impressed. By I also was fascinated by the way his family is both an extreme version and a watered down version of my family at the same time. That's sort of depressing when you stop and think about it.

It got me started on stories of my life again, not a memoir, or even a complete story...just something. I never can figure out what it will be.

There's a lot of stories I want to tell again, honest little blobs of nothing that I almost obsessively think I can turn into something. Something real. Something truthful. Something interesting. I don't know.

We will see.