Anyone know from where this quote originated? I'm doing a report that's partially about a Faulkner book, so it applies. Seriously, I think nearly all of his characters are at least one of those things.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/2009/11/sunday-secrets_29.html

PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people
mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard.








HopeLine Fundraiser on twitter this Thursday. Tell
your friends & follow @postsecret for more details.








-----Email Message-----

As much as I hate that i cant help myself right now, i look forward to never sitting alone for the next month or so.












-----Email Message and picture-----

Frank,

My father, who I was very close to, passed away when I was 21 very suddenly and unexpectedly. 2 years later I met the man of my dreams and could not imagine getting married without my dad there.

To this day, whenever anyone asks me who walked me down the aisle the true and honest answer is: "My dad did".



Maybe someone else out there will find this to be a small comfort during the sadness of not having their dad.

-----End Message-----




-----Email Message-----

I always thought it was a "doggie dog world".


-----Email Message-----

Until recently, I thought the saying was "Devil make hair." I'm 25. I think I like my version better.


-----Email Message-----

it was "a Wayne in a manger." I didn't realize it was really Jesus in there.















-----Email Message-----

Dear Frank,

Sunday I was with my boyfriend (we are both young Christians). I grabbed his laptop to go to the postsecret website. As I typed in the postsecret address the computer filled in the url with a pornography website.

I used my boyfriend's laptop again to look up postsecret and the computer filled in the url with recently visited sites about pre and post nuptial agreements.

In my attempts to read other people's secrets, I discovered his.



Order Your Copy Today




-----Email Message-----

To the person who thinks couple-dom is a big secret. It isn't. Too scared to be alone, I was in a couple in some way for 16 years and I always felt like I was faking. I was jealous of my single friends who had the strength not to settle like I did.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/2009/11/postsecret-events-incomplete.html

Article or Video preview of PostSecret Event.


11-30-90
DeNaples Center
Scranton, PA
--Sold-Out--

12-4-09
Michigan Theater
Ann Arbor, MI
RSVP on Facebook | Buy Tickets Online

1-10-10
New World Stage (just added)
Manhattan, NY
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Become a PostSecret "Fan" on Facebook
for PostSecret Event updates (dates & schools).

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hey yawl.

I really need to get my country ass on the road to austin, so this'll be kinda short and sweet; I uh, found my groove yesterday.

Who knew it would be balls-deep up the furry butt of a bearded-and-surprisingly-piggy 22 year old? Seriously. I mean, what, I still get laid more than most, but it's been a while since I really felt like a fuckin stud...then again, that could have a bit to do with me bein a bottom way more often than not, for the last few years. I dunno. Anyway, uh, let's just say that this boy is damn lucky that butt-babies never live.

After I left his place yesterday I put the top down and was rocking out to Magic Man by Heart (which has been a major bug in my ear for the last week or so; foreshadowing?) and I kept getting the weirdest looks from people in traffic. Like, what the fuck, yall ain't never seen nobody drive home at 5pm in a fuckin great mood? Oh. Right. I guess yall ain't. WELL GET LAID MORE, DALLAS, AND MAYBE YOU'D UNDERSTAND, TRYYY TO UNDERSTAND, TRY TRY TRY TO UNDERSTAAAAND...I'm a magic man.

Yep. Wanna see my magic wand?

The move is over, the weekend gone and here I sit, surrounded by boxes and the formidable task of turning a new locale into a home. How many times now have I been in this situation? Too many to count. Like most people, I hate moving. Passionately. I gave up “swearing” that I would never do it again long ago. I thought of that on Saturday, when one of the gals helping us said, “After our last move, I told my husband that I was going to die in that house. I hate moving and never want to do it again.” Yeah. I understand, completely. Kind of wish it worked that way…

I’m not exactly sure when it was that I came to the realization that, because of the type of person I am and the lifestyle I prefer to live, moving every few years was an inevitability. Two failed long-term relationships, two houses purchased and lost, two households filled with memorabilia portioned out to the winner (i.e., not me), a handful of shorter relationships that never quite allowed for roots to be set down. Being an acquired taste isn’t easy, especially when those who are so taken by my “worldliness and sparkling personality” grow tired of it. Consequently, if walking away is going to be done, I’m usually the guy who ends up doing it. Starting over has become a fact of life, I’m afraid. I’m just not a hunker down until the day I die kind of guy.

Not that don’t want to create a home that will last more than a few years, I do. I’d love that. It just hasn’t happened yet. Which isn’t to say that this won’t be the time. It could be. I hope it is. Donny really is the perfect mate for me, in every possible way. Let’s just hope he still feels the same way in five or ten years. In which case, I wish these new digs were more to my liking, than not. It isn’t a bad house. Got a lot of charm, in a 1940s kind of way: wood floors, coved ceilings, brick fireplace, big back yard. It’s also got a tiny kitchen, wood panel walls, no closet space and is located on a dead-end dirt road in an area of town that some might call “unsavory.” Still, it’s got a lot of potential and I’m resigned to creating a comfortable living space for both myself and Donny, for as long as it lasts.

He and I have been pondering the possibilities; how to decorate this room, what to do about that room, what, if anything, can be done about the huge dirt lot that is the back yard. It’s going to be an enormous project for us. Probably pretty costly, too. Funny, considering neither of us are in a secure enough financial place that we can begin earmarking large chunks of money for things like putting in a yard, ripping up ugly carpeting, refinishing floors or even buying the much-needed shelving that will get boxes of books up off the floor. Ah, well… max out another credit card. I’m already so far in debt my great, great grandchildren will be feeling the pinch, why stop now, right? Joke. It’s a joke… gads…

Then there’s the time issue. I just don’t have it. I’m off all this week and will do everything I can to unpack and tidy up. I also have a huge ad campaign to kick off and a newsletter to put together, but that’s just par for the course. Then there’s that holiday thing to deal with and the fact that one of Donny’s friends is coming to visit, which will most likely hinder said ongoing project. After this week, I’m back to the 16-hour-a-day grind, six days a week. Not a lot of time for home projects. Which is kind of depressing, because there’s so much I want to do here and the prospect of still wanting to do those things a year from now doesn’t sit well. So, I try not to think about it.

Instead, I’ll begin by tackling the kitchen. There’s got to be a way to get everything into that room. I just have to be creative. Then I’d better start working on the guest bedroom, since Katy will be getting into town sometime Wednesday. Oosh, and I’ve got to start breaking down all those empty boxes that are piled up on the back porch and hauling storage items out to the storage shed. At some point I have to take a break and go in to the office, to start working on that ad campaign. Farm some of it out, if I can. Yeah, it’s going to be a busy day. Let the fun begin…




The task ahead…

In other-other (and yet still health-and-pills-and-AAOW MY BUTT HURTS) news: I am back off of the Keppra. Seriously, fuck that shit. I do not need just a straight-up anticonvulsant that badly. That shit made me bitchy and tired and unable to eat without feeling like a bloated manatee and AND it gave me the pork-sweats.

Oddly enough, the side-effects that I experienced are exceedingly rare (if the wikipedia article is to be believed) - all anyone anywhere on the internet seems to be saying about this crap is ZOMG HOW AWESOME IT IS AOWW HAIL YES I SHOUT AND HOLLA PRAISE FOR IT and shit. Which fucking figures; now (in addition to my primary care doctor who- after the last appointment I had with him where I basically started crying in his office after he told me he was not refilling my Klonopin- now looks at me like Dr Phil would look at Courtney Love eating a half-dead Amy Winehouse), my neruologist is gonna think that I'm just another schlub trying to GET MOAR HAPPY PILLZ DRUGS YAY LOL OMG. Fuck you people, seriously: it's KLONOPIN. Hell, ya have to fucking OD on the shit to even get it to present with any sedative-hypnotic/euphoric effects. If you can really get high with that shit, you are boring and you fail at life and should just go fall under a goddamn bus.

Whatever damage to my nervous system happened on that one fucked up day in February is obviously permanent, because the problems I've been having (the perma-drunk slurry speech which means cops LOVE ME and the twitchiness in my face and the shakiness in my hands and the fundamental inability to so much as even hold onto a writing utensil) are quite persistent, though they're less obvious to an observing third party mainly because I've had eight months of practice coping with them. I want need the Klonopin because- at least of all the shit that I've tried so far- it actually makes me feel the MOST like my old articulate and not-clumsy-assed self, who was last seen the day before this bullshit first happened. It actually, you know, addresses and alleviates my symptoms without any overly unpleasant side effects.

Also, and this is just a missive from captain obvious, however: if you're a doctor who is refusing both to refill your patient's anti-anxiety medication AND to even hear him out when he's stuttering out an additional explanation and you're gonna just get up and walk out the room like you done ended the conversation? AW HAIL NAW do not act brand new when you lose an eye next time. Seriously. You could have, like, WARNED ME MAYBE you fucking fuck, so I at least could have cut all my pills in half and begun to gently taper off my dosage. instead of being on the shit for 3 months and then, like, SURPRISE lol j/k, your problems aren't real problems, drugs r bad mmkay! Plz enjoy withdrawal. It took me ten minutes to order at Taco Bell the other day, and finally I had to give up and order at the window cuz Consuela or whatever her name was could not understand my fake-drunk-country ass.

Sigh. sigh. SIGH.

Oh well. I've got another apperntment at the neurologist next month, and I'm gonna tell them I'd rather eat my own nutsack than take any more of this Keppra shit, and in light of that I'm gonna ask they ass one more time, very respectfully mind you, for more Klonopin. I hope I'm having a better time with my verbal communication skills on this next apperntment than I did on the 10th. I sat there and tried, in earnest, to accurately describe my symptoms as well as express my concerns only to have that bitch make a desicion based on what she had already read in my fucking file before I even got there. Seriously? I could have stayed home with my dick in my hand.

Ima have to find me a website that sells Klonopin. Also: ambien. OH LOL SPEAKING OF MY HANDSOME PRINCE AMBIEN NOM NOM NOM gnite.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/2009/11/hopeline.html

-----Email Message-----
Subject: thank you

Frank,

This past Friday night I found myself in a black hole of depression and I didn't know how I was going to make it through the night. Not knowing where to turn and feeling like I couldn't stop. I remembered seeing the Hopeline phone number in the front of your book. I talked with someone there for 2 and a half hours and I truly feel that they saved my life.

Thank you for the book, thank Hopeline for being there, and thank the people that send in their postcards so that others know they are not alone with their secrets.


-Casie (with permission)

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/2009/11/sunday-secrets_22.html

PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people
mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard.



-----Email Message-----

The real reason I do want to have kids is that if I do get divorced or my future husband dies, I won't be lonely and I can meet new people through them.










(Secret posted last week) The morning after you hit our 10-year old daughter, we all stood there and watched as a fan asked for your autograph.

















-----Email Message-----
I've been clean for years but can't listen to Lou Reed's Heroin because it makes me feel like I've relapsed.







See More Secrets. Follow PostSecret on Twitter.












-----Email Message-----

I actually enjoy sitting in the middle seat on an airplane because I'm so starved for any kind of touch/contact.












The new book is available from bookstores and online.

The new book is available from bookstores and online.