+ confessions of a red-headed stepchild: and then she reared her ugly head

Friday, December 01, 2006

and then she reared her ugly head

I don’t really handle coincidences well. Or dreams. Or anything that might mean anything. Some days I think I am psychic, other days I think the cosmos are aligning themselves, like a secret decoder ring getting ready to reveal the final clue.

And then what? Will it all make sense? Or will we just implode?

Itemizing the coincidences (that could mean nothing more than: I am way too fucking stoned) make each instance feel so minimized. Like a dream, wherein telling, loses every ounce of glory it once had.

Just trust me. Something crazy is going to happen, much crazier than a dead blog coming back to life.