Deerhunters

This is something I found on iTunes. It's a review of a Deerhunter record. It was written by someone who calls her/himself mayretta sweat. I googled that name and didn't find anything.

I just think people should read this. It makes me love writing:

"unfinished subdivision cul-de-sacs 12 on a Friday night rolling my first cigarette listening to the train roll by the square waffle house 4 am staring out the window kennesaw mountain supposed to be at school"

I didn't write that. I wish I had, though.

***

Someone from a place Wikipedia refers to as a "small market town" called Tring found this blog (and didn't read it) by looking for this phrase:

Dream of eggs in a fridge

Tring sounds not like the name of a small market town but it sounds instead like a sound. It's sounds like onomatopoeia.

Tring.

Also, someone who wrote about Tring submitted a red/umber-colored photo of waterfowl and water and wood in Tring. The sun is there and going down, too.

***

I just published this post without mentioning anything about a dream of eggs in a fridge.

I should've mentioned something about it.

Like, that the phrase links to my blog because of this post.

That's something I should've mentioned.

Zoloft

When I forget to take my Zoloft for a day or two, I get this feeling like the top half of my head is light, and the bottom half of my head is heavy. Somewhere around my eyes, my head feels stretched.

I don't know how else to describe it. Just like that: stretched.

When I forget to take my Zoloft for a week or two, and then take it again, the inside of my head buzzes loudly. If I take Zoloft after not having taken it for a week or two, and then drink my daily cup of coffee, my body jitters for a couple of hours, and I rub my face and hair a lot, and my hand shakes as I rub it along my face from bottom to top.

And I begin to feel nauseous after a couple of hours of jitters. And I drink more coffee to keep myself from wanted to nap off the rest of the day.

I have a lot to do, you see. A lot more than you'd think.

A lot.

The Scientologists have moved in across the street, and they are looking in through my window every morning, watching me take my Zoloft, judging me. Always judging me.

I yell out the window at them. I yell: Thank Xenu for Zoloft! and they go scampering back to their homes. They scamper up the trees and into the little holes they live in.

(Wait. Are those Scientologists, or squirrels? Do the Scientologists also live in trees? Am I mistaking the squirrels for Scientologists?)

They scamper, but always they look back, and always, always they judge me.

But if I don't take my Zoloft, my face stretches. And if I don't take my Zoloft, I think all day about how I'm a foot behind myself, watching myself.

And the anxiety voice yells at me all day long.

But seriously. I would never blog about something like that.

Faces

Can't blog. Busy elsewhere.