Dear Mrsatroxi,

Hello, folks. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to break a silence, the longer it stretches? Yeah.

That’s where I am right now.

I’ve even had good reason not to be here.

A cancer scare counts as a good reason, doesn’t it?

Well, anyway, here I am, for what I’m worth. What follows is one of those “25 Things” things I’d written awhile ago for something else. It’s edited, so there aren’t 25 of the things anymore, it’s not that I can’t count.

Taadaa:

In my youth, I wanted to be a truckdriver.

I have a scar on my knee that looks like a lightning bolt, if you squint and you’re drunk. I got it while climbing between cars, sliced it wide open on a rusty license plate. It was the first time I hurt myself and didn’t cry. It was also last week.

I have two things I doodle over and over. “3-D” boxes and tornados.

I would give both feet to be able to dance. Defeats the purpose, but there it is.

I write fan fiction in my head. Sometimes for things I’m not even a fan of. I have a Batman movie, a Sherlock Holmes story and two Dr. Who episodes rattling around up there at the moment.

I love, love, love cars. If I were rich, I’d have the biggest garage ever, full of totally awesome cars. Oh, and my own racetrack.

My husband can make me laugh harder than anybody else.

I am the baby of four girls.

However, I was raised as an only child.

I am very vain about my eye color.

I despise doctors.

I will not wait to eat. If there’s a wait at a restaurant, I leave. Even more so if it’s just some stupid chain restaurant. Exceptions to this include being with other people.

My favorite thing in the world to eat is a homemade scrambled egg sandwich with mayo.

I miss my grandparents and their farm almost everyday.

I am very good at pretending that everything is fine.

You know, I really wish there were some sort of an indicator built into automobiles that would allow the driver of said automobile to signal to other drivers on the road that they are about to make a lateral movement of some sort. Perhaps said indicator could even be lighted, perchance to flash on and off, to further call attention to just such a maneuver. And perhaps the switch for said indicator could be conveniently located to the driver, centrally, if you will, mounted on the steering wheel, so that could be activated without having to move the hands at all.

I wonder what such a marvel of invention could be called.

Ahh.

The last day of 2008.

Goddamnned stinking bleak evil oozing pustule of a year.

Not going to miss it! Not going to look back and say, oh, 2008. What a great year that was! Nope, it’s more like, oh! remember that nice thing when we, um, ah, and oh yeah! there was that fun time, no, never mind, oh! we went, no, wait, that was the year before. (The only thing I/Humanity might possibly remember it as is “the Beginning of the End”, but I’m Not! Thinking! About that right now.) Yeah. Pretty crappy year all around. Lost a job I’d liked, got crammed into a closet and a job I hated, didn’t get a nice vacation, got a stressed out and miserable husband, subsequently have had better years in the marriage department, dealt with the extreme stress of a new job, my poor sister shattered her ankle and is having surgery as we speak, the bottom dropped out of the world’s piggybanks and I developed acne.

Sucks.

(All I need is a dead dog and an esploded pickup truck and I’d have a hit song on my hands.)

So! Go out there and party folks! I hereby enable your alcohol poisoning session with a sponsored (sponsored in the sense that I’m telling you to do it, I have no money and I don’t speak English) toast to me, and may 2009 be better for us all.

And if it isn’t, may all of our suicide pacts be honored.

Amen.