"I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself"

Dear Diary,
I am listening to the stylings of Burt Bacharach on father's gramophone. Current mood: incredulous. Oh this song gets right to the heart of the matter! Dearest keeper of my musings and mutterings, I don't know what to do with myself...do doo do do. It seems the fates are more than contented to give me vague prophecies and hopes only to dash them against the boulder of ironic hilarity! Last week's festival fiasco was bloody mess; my vest is ruined. I DID lick lady MacD's earlobe, which was some small consolation, but not much.
Diary, I am at a crossroads. I have so many diverging paths of inquiry that I feel overwhelmed by the mere possibility of choosing one over the other! I must approach this in a systematic fashion.

• Figure out the nature/cause of my fits
• Just what does father do for a living?
• Is Young Siward-Gainsville's hand really possessed?
• *side point* does Y.S.G. try to foil my efforts because he is (gag) jealous of my attentions?
• Why does Unca Macbeth love cats so much?
• Does Gilmer really love me, or was she merely seeking more of the "Ambrosia de Malcolm" that was covering my face?
• Would marketing "Ambrosia de Malcolm" be a lucrative business venture?
• Is there a second Gilmer, or was it merely a chappy witch lady?
• Why is there a talking manwich?
• Do I go after my Dulcet darling, Gilmer 1, Gilmer 2, or simply move to Utah and become a Mormon like that creepy chick-lit writer? *Note to self* "Spidermonkey" does not a good pet-name make.
• Why do I feel the compulsion to free myself from my cottony confines everytime I start to think about freeing Tibet?
• Would leaving a plate of poisonous cupcakes around...perhaps in nose-shot of the MacDuff household...be murder in the strictest sense?
• Would that qualify to be put on father's "enemies no more" chart? you know the one that looks like a fundraiser thermometer? Mine is embarrassingly low (actually, I am in the negatives...after I accidentally told Lady Lennox that father was planning to "Off Angus." In my defense I thought that meant he was going to let him go on vacation). Father might be pleased.
• Is Wu-Tang really forever?
• Does the invention of compact discs negate the mystique of the "secret song?"

Oh, Diary, my lines of inquiry are so many...but I believe I can knock at least one off the list. The answer is "Yes, Wu-Tang is forever."

Illily yours,

Y.B.P.M. (a.k.a. Jimmy Analog)

Peppermint Pillow

Diary.

Diary, Diary, Diary.

(Diary.)

I handed out my fliars to anyone who would accept them. This, unfortunately was about 4 people, one of which may or may not have been a lady. So, I took the rest of my fliars and wallpapered the town square with them! Oh, how lovely they looked! Alas, it draws near 2pm and I see no one approaching.

I will tell you what I DO see though Diary....I see Gilmer, my delightful "Touched by an Angel" neighbor.

She's out in mother's garden chasing butterflies like a playful little kitten. I think she just ate one.

SIGH. She is awfully charming. Well, at least I know that she will be here for the viewing of my fit. Perhaps it will illicit in her the profound need to hold me, and put her fingers in my nostrils like I saw her do to cousin Ross yesterday.

Wait a minute. What's this?!

DIARY.

I'll B.R.B!

......

I? AM ANGRY. So angry in fact that my blinding RAGE has actually PREVENTED my 2pm fit. I will note this new development. I am positively FUMING. I can FEEL my blood boiling. I am practically foaming at the mouth. Oh, wait. That's just saliva mixing with my tears.

Diary, I rushed down to the garden because I saw none other than Young Siward approaching my Ginger Gem as she gnawed off the wing of a monarch.

I wonder if there's a hidden metaphor to be discovered there.

ANYWAY.

Young Siward held out his DEMONIC HAND for her to hold and pulled her up off the ground, asked her if she'd care for a "sammich" and then stole my Special Needs Siren away.

Where could he and his Demon Digits be taking her?!

Oh WHY must he constantly thwart me!

The only good news of the day thus far is that tonight, I am told, Unca Macbeth comes with his Cat Circus, which is always a good show. My personal favorite is Doctor Whiskerkins who catches flaming bowling pins on his nose. Regardless, he is nearly always joined by MacDuff which means...thank the heavens...I may see my Lady Lemondrop this evening. Together, we will enjoy the many wonders of Viscount Reginold Litterpants, the tight-rope walking tabby and maybe a sip or two of Giggly Water under the table.

Maybe I can "accidentally" lick her earlobe when I lean in to ask her some benign question like "Did you see my fliars?" or "Have you seen any good talking pictures lately?" I hear earlobe licking is one of "the signs" in some cultures.

Farewell for now Diary. I must depart and wander the garden for any sign of Gilmer, or that dastardly villain, Young Siward.

Yours in Perpetual Rage and Yet Marginal Excitement,

Y.B.P.M.