I will not apologized for what I'll say next: I feel awesome.

I mean, what do I have to complain about? I have a good job. My colleagues like me. My friends like me more. My boyfriend loves me a lot.

I mean, he really loves me a lot. I know he works in a different country, but he always sends me gifts. Look, he sent me a gold watch two weeks ago. Isn't this beautiful? And he always leaves me notes, too. I love handwritten notes. His English may not be perfect - funny, because he works in Jeddah, he has to speak English to be understand - but I know he loves me a lot, so I don't mind at all.

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Jennifer Lawrence is my god

Jennifer Lawrence is my god.

I don't know why I didn't see it earlier. Maybe it's because my mind was shut. I blindly believed in all of their gods and all of their beliefs; all of the rituals, especially on a Sunday; all of the lessons in school that they could not prove.

But then again, I was young, and I easily believed what I was told. But now I'm older. I can think for myself. Or at least I think I can think for myself. And I have seen things, and I have put two and two together, and now I can definitely say that, yes, this is what I believe. And I believe that Jennifer Lawrence is my god.

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A check mark beside your name

So Twitter's rolling out a new interface, and it looks like Facebook, and I don't care, because I use TweetDeck to maintain two accounts.

"Randomly went to Mo Twister's Twitter page and saw his profile has been converted to the newer-newer Twitter design," Anna tweeted. "Oh."

"And your point is?" I replied. "It's not a snotty question, I swear."

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Six hours on average

Today is a national holiday, which explains why I could afford to stay up late last night.

Well, actually, I stayed up really late, I might as well change that last sentence. Today is a national holiday, which explain why I could afford to stay up early this morning.

Okay, that did not quite sound right.

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I write this blog entry an extremely sleepy man.

One of our dogs somehow hooked up with another one on the street. I saw it and all. Over two months later she has given birth to seven pups, and while they're feeding on milk we have to keep watch over them. This has meant a complex sequence of tasks that involves knowing when to lock the mother in her cage with her kids, when to let her out, how much to feed her and when, and how to deal with our other dog who's gotten lonelier (or more bitter) by the day.

I woke up at half past three this morning. I was, technically, woken up, by the new mother's barking; she wanted to be let out of her cage. She, apparently, had to take a dump. I unlocked the back door and opened her cage, but, as it turns out, her collar has gotten loose, so she managed to get away (and dump at the other end of the backyard). And I managed to lose the padlock to the back door. Well, it slipped from my grasp and it ended up inside the cage with seven rowdy puppies, but I am bleary eyed, and already paranoid, thinking that someone might break into our house and kill me off or something.

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