tralalalala...skipping through the fields of asphodel...

I'm kind of fascinated by the underworld. If you don't know what that is, you need to get a life. The underworld is just about the most amazing, legendary place in Greece. I kind of wish it were a landmark or a tourist attraction rather than where you go when you die, because I would go on vacation there. Definitely. When I express my (above) enthusiasm for Tartarus, I get a trip to the family therapist. Or rather, he comes to me. He sits there with his wrinkly hand on his chin and asks me the same, drab questions over and over again. He's like an iPod set on repeat. "How do you feel about that?" "How does that make you feel?" "What feelings resonate inside of you when this happens?" If you didn't get the hint, he asks the same things, but this man thinks he's SO SMART that if he rewords the questions I won't catch on. I caught on. Occasionally, I'll even be lucky enough to get, "Let's paint our feelings!" Sometimes I want to laugh at him. Sometimes I do. My life is boring. My toga is finished. I have nothing else to do, so I sit and wait, dreaming about my life when I'm dead. Maybe I am dead. Who knows? Life is tricky like that, and I don't have the patience or the attention span to figure it out.

Wow. Gee wiz. Oh my Gods. That was a pretty serious little rant up there. I don't know if I'd call it a rant. But it was SOMETHING. I'm not usually that serious. But I really do hate that man.

*nausicaa*