| Business Ventures - Probably Not At All Interesting |
[Oct. 20th, 2005|04:30 pm] |
My medicines make me insane, but insanity is a cherished quality amongst entrepreneurs.
The depression is starting wear off a little, leaving me in an incredibly manic state of hyperactivity. So one of these days, I'm going to get married. And one of these days, I'm going to have kids and be a dainty little housewife for a couple of years.
When I'm not cleaning, cooking, caring for the kids, I'll be planning weddings. Cutting out things, organizing folders on the computer, and such. During this period, I will plan hundreds upon hundreds of different wedding sets. I will organize every damn little detail of every damn little wedding. Hundreds of them. Different themes, different color schemes, different venues, different flowers, different seasons, different rings.
That's the first part.
Part two is building a complete database of a variety of different items (be they dresses, rings, tuxes) in a variety of different price ranges. With this database, I will be able to search by color, style, size, and cost. With the pre-planned weddings in place, the bride-to-be will be able to mix and match by using my database in order to fit her wedding to her tastes and budgets. For example, if she likes the style of dress, but it's not in her price range, I'll be able to type in a few words and get some cheap-but-similar alternatives.
Every little girl dreams of her wedding, and every little girl grown up deserves a dream come true.
I want to be able to have a woman walk into my office and say, "I want a zen wedding" or "I want a beach wedding" and I want to make this dream a reality without the large hassle usually involved. With pre-planned weddings, the basic structure is already there. All you have to do is fill in the blanks. I want to be able to pull out a scrapbook or a slideshow and have her say "I love this, but I want more of a that" and be able to meld them together.
And so, today my business is coming to shape in my head. I'm not going to be like the other planners. If needed, I can start from scratch, but I want to take out the stress and leave the bride with peace of mind.
I came up with names today. I guess they're cheesy and tacky. Since they're basic structure is pre-planned, I was thinking "Bride In A Bag" or "Bride In A Box."
What do you girls think? Is it just the pills talking? Does this make any sense whatsoever? I'm just suddenly really optimistic about it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 19th, 2005|10:57 pm] |
O cursed state!
O bosom black as death!
O limed soul that struggling to be free art more engaged!
I'm going to vomit. With a cigarette betwixed my purest of fingers. Bones cannot speak. Bones haven't the lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue to form words audible to human ear. The inner snail doesn't feel the slightest vibration, yet my mind lies audience to haunting lecture.
I cannot hear through my eyes.
I cannot hear through my eyes.
I cannot hear through my eyes.
Yet, I do. No aid required. No projection. No organs of speech. My eyes hear the visual words, clear as bells. I clamp my eyes shut. Pray for hasteful deafness. Thin skin can't muffle the sounds.
And Dianna looks at me and says, "Are you alright? You look so pale."
Rob throws his arms in the air and says, annoyance lilting his rich, low voice, "Rehearsal's over."
I swore to you, Rob. The death of one madness revives another. You cannot filter and sift for the good in this being, for it is not there. Where my good should be, there rests another evil. Feminine andmasculine. Black and white. Fire and air. The gentle breeze may carry the fire elsewhere, but it will only fan the flames in a meadow more expansive. There is no gold in this sandbox, only the misplaced piece of gravel.
I shake. I shiver. I'm cold, but I sweat. I'm hungry, but I feel full with nothing up to my lack of chin. These pills merely induce war between myselves. Myselves isn't a word. But it's the only word that makes sense.
I don't think in words. Language does not properly translate my thoughts. I'm sure there once was a language that expressed my nonsense words and feelings, but it's lost. It's a dead language. Scrolls buried in some tomb with it's last utterer.
I'm going to smoke. The smoke neutralizes the madness within. Fuck everyone for misunderstanding. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 17th, 2005|12:43 pm] |
Fuck you, Jason Thomas Lambert. Stop being such a self-righteous asshole. Stop treating me like a child. Stop scolding me for trivial things when you are guilty of annoyances more trivial. I clean your fucking apartment and you come home and get mad at me for throwing away an empty baked beans can. What the fuck, Jason? Really?
Can you take out your anger on something else? Can you go out and have a smoke? Maybe purchase a punching bag? Just stop yelling at me in your big, scary, man voice.
I hate "Revenge of the Nerds II" because Antahony Edwards is in less than five minutes of the movie.
Eating hot dogs on the day of "Rocky" auditions. How appropriate. Too bad my fucking voice isn't working. I'm smoking. |
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