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I always wondered why our Sun and our Moon are proper nouns and other celestial bodies have better names. I mean Titan, now that’s a name, but it’s also a moon, not the Moon.

I’m going to start calling our Moon a new name from now on, Luna is a nice fit (Harry Potter fans rejoice I guess). As for the Sun, shrug, I was always partial to Ra or maybe Flamey McBall, I haven’t decided which one I prefer more.

Happy 4 year anniversary to Binary Tuberculosis. 550 posts later and I am worse off than I was back then. Oh well, I’d start this coughtesticular journal anyway, hell with hindsight.

Sister was in the hospital all night. They wouldn’t let me stay overnight, so I left at 1am and now I’m back. The doctor should’ve been here at 10am, but the jerk isn’t going to start his rounds until 11:30am. Jerk. I blame doctor egos and sunny days. He had better discharge her.

For some reason I asked myself earlier in the day, what could be the worst curse one can have? Midas came to mind, as did Sisyphus, but as I looked over my bedside table, I settled on a singular answer for today… August from John Crowley’s Little, Big.

Why? August had made a trade, a deck of cards in return for power over the hearts of all women. Cursed he had become.

He learned, though slowly, what all great harrowed lovers learn: that love is what most surely compels love–is perhaps, except for brute force, the only thing that does, though only (and this was the terrible gift he had been given) when the lover truly believes, as August could, that when his love is strong enough it must surely be returned–and August’s was.

…he came to know that it did not and had not ever contained his power over women: his power over women lay in their power over him.

Imagine having the love of every woman. Imagine not being able to stop loving them. Imagine not being to stop their love from being returned. Imagine endless heartbreaks. A curse indeed.

His role in the novel wasn’t major and in fact there are characters with even more tragic happenings, heroes even, but his short role in those pages was… refreshing. Seeing a gift in a different light. But I guess, sadly, it seems to be one of those curses that you must experience yourself to truly fear. I wouldn’t mind being rewarded with this curse (or cursed with this gift), as I’m sure all of you wouldn’t mind either.

Pocky Sticks and Pomegranate Juice.

Best.  Dinner.  Ever.

After a two week hiatus I got back into my running routine tonight. The news fares well my friends, no neck, shoulder, or back pain… I live eternal!

Or maybe I’m doing something wrong, why you ask? Well, um, I think I may have run too much or maybe not right or something… I removed my socks and a couple of the toes in my right foot were bloody.

I think my body hates me.

I sense the weather is shifting, my corporeal self is tired of taking orders from a grey mass which gets all the credit. If nobody hears from me soon, then I have been ravaged in a bloody civil war of personal proportions. This rising coup d’état will be quenched!

I think my mind is starting to hate me too.

Got a slurpee during lunch today.

Bonus.