13:58 - 18.03.2007
cute fluffy bunnies

the symptoms of pain that i have to describe today sound almost like a gi tract virus. my stomach feels queasy because i have a burning, stabbing pain down in my intestines. however, this isn't the flu; it's a result of taking waaaaaay too many laxatives in a short period of time. ouch.

my boyfriend isn't demanding that i "get help," though, which was what i was so afraid he would do when he found out. he just wants to help me get better. the only problem is that i don't want to "get better" in the sense of recovering; i want to "get better" in terms of perfecting bulimia.

i feel bad for him because i know it hurts him that i'm bulimic, for a multitude of reasons. i never meant to hurt his feelings, but i do think it's better that he knows because maybe now he can avoid the inadvertant comments that he so frequently makes that make me feel oh-so-guilty. enough.

dallben, my maler german lop (rabbit), decided on thursday that he could fly. he hopped up on an armchair and leapt, about three feet, through the air to land soundly inside his cage. i nearly had a heart attack; i was so certain that he would split his skull open. we also have a new member in the family: a small brown lizard with an extraordinarily long tail. they found him in a floral shipment at the kroger my mother works at. she brought him home and has named him "bill," after the lizard in alice and wonderland, no less. anymore, any of lewis carroll's works, especially alice reminds me of marilyn manson because the latter seems so infatuated with the former. quite frightening to be stalking a dead guy, i think. remember when manson was cool? but now he's just a freaky, psychotic loser? i went to see him once, in concert, with a friend. but i got so stoned beforehand that i do not remember the concert in the least. apparently, i was too high to even sit, let alone stand, during the show. i'm told that i was lying half-conscious on the grass the whole time, that my friend had to carry me back to the car afterwards. apparently, i have missed the most exciting parts of my life because i was too high too enjoy or remember them. pity. but at least i'm not an addict anymore.

i wish to speak of something happy. my boyfriend finally went to pick up my valentine's day present: grimoire for the green witch by ann moura. yay! and he's buying me soymilk because it only costs $2.79 where he works and then he gets and extra 10% off, whereas it costs $3.29 at my work since they jacked the price up again. am i made of money? should i be? apparently so. cigarettes are always more expensive; we ended up purchasing six slofs for $130.00, a $10.00 increase. perhaps it's just because the american dollar is worth fucking shit these days.

we both want to get tattoos. i want a butterfly. i really want one of my wrist and my hip. butterflies symbolize death, regeneration, metamophosis, and the immortality of the soul, not to mention flying free, beauty, wisdom, grace, and a million other such things. also, when we were out buying incense and books the other day, i saw a gorgeous pendant in a metaphysical shop. it's silver with a moonstone in the center and appears to be a butterfly at first glance. upon closer inspection, one sees that the butterfly's wings are actually formed from two crescent moons and the moonstone in the center is the full moon. alas that it cost $40.00! i have found it a few dollars cheaper on various websites, but they all want an arm and a leg for shipping. probably, the best thing to do will be to return to the shop and purchase it there.

i work with our seafood lead tonight. he's quite nice, and not at all perverted, unlike someof my coworkers that enjoy trying to stare at my ass, depsite that it is shrouded by my too-big countercoat. i plan to scrub and bleach the cooler floor, assuming the time permits. last night, i worked with phil, and we discussed the great need to clean said floor. he also called me "tiny," which made me simply elated.

and i stopped by the drug store on the way home to get laxatives and mascara. the cashier gave me the strangest look, as though she believed that i was only buying the mascara to distract her attention from the 100-pack of laxatives. had i meant to be distracting, i would have bought magazines and candles and incense and highlighters and index cards and eyeliner and water bottles and shampoo and soap and a dozen other items. no; i just happened to need both laxatives and mascara. who was she to judge me? i might have been severely constipated and in need of relief. it just so happens that i'm not; i'm bulimic, but so what? at least i don't sit there and judge people who buy laxatives and mascara after dark.