Back to Diaryland

the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2003-02-10 ... 1:32 p.m.

So many little things are wrong today. My face feels gritty and tender, and I would love more than anything to be home with my lavender cleanser stuff and scrub it up properly, instead of being stuck at this office with its icky pink hand soap and scratchy paper towels. I got dressed in the dark, in haste, and in a rut of Monday Morning Despair, so I am wearing a major strange outfit and unhappy worn-out tights that really should have be retired a while ago, and I am regretting that now. It is snowing, which makes the view from this window special and compelling but which means that my afterwork library trip will be more difficult, especially on the way home from the bus stop with my extra-long walk and (hopefully: keep your fingers crossed for my Book-Finding Karma) my big bag of library books. I don�t seem to be hungry anymore, ever: yesterday I survived on six mini faker corn dogs and then an afternoon onion bagel, and even that took me like an hour to eat, and today I thought I would be excited about ordering my favorite Fancy Salad but two bites later I was uninterested, and now here it sits, a green leafy rebuke to my fickle appetite.


I have such better dreams on the weekends---more detailed, funnier, longer, more coherent, less cramped and anxious. Perhaps this is proof that I don�t sleep enough during the week, or that my brain needs the no-pressure environment of not having to work in the morning in order to come up with the good stuff. Good Weekend Dream #1 may not sound nice but it pleased me, it was about an amusement park with one really horrible ride, one of those jungle-themed water rides, only this one featured all kinds of scary crap falling on you from somewhere, including, at one point, a shower of maggots. It was really especially horrible because you could see what was happening to people in the cars up ahead, and so you knew that you were next in line for the Maggot Shower. Not the premium amusement park experience. Also recently I dreamed a sign that said THIS WAY TO THE STEPHEN MALKMUS SPERM BANK, and when I woke up I wondered if this would actually be a viable business venture---would baby-craving hipster girls pay for indie sperm? Send me an e-mail if you are a venture capitalist and want to discuss this further.

S. came over on Saturday for more HOTT GIRL-ON-GIRL BAKING ACTION, and we made sweet potato cheesecake with bourbon-flavored sour cream on top. It was good and heart-attacky. We also drank nearly three bottles of wine, which I spent nearly an entire day thinking was just two bottles of wine, until LT confessed that, because he hates to see an empty glass, he had opened a third in the kitchen and served it to us. That goes a long way toward explaining my Sunday disorientation. LT also told me the morning after that he thinks he may have become impervious to alcohol, since by his own calculations and bottle-count he had thirteen beers during our bake-off and still was relatively sober and completely unhungover the next day. We are as yet unsure of the implications of this radical change in body chemistry�perhaps he can use his superpower to go over to the dark side, and run around getting superheroes drunk so that they forget to fight evil. Then we take over. [maniacal laughter]

Sunday was about tea and talking too fast at a coffeeshop, and then a visit to a surprisingly crowded Fireside Bowl for The Dishes and the rock and the roll. Dishes lead singer Sarah was wearing this cool black jumpsuit. After her set I walked by her in the Fireside's bar and I said, "That jumpsuit is dope," and she said, "Thanks cupcake!" I continued on my way to the bathroom thinking: That was just about the best 5-second interaction ever.


The feathered-back hair site. Not the feathered back-hair site. Although that would be something, wouldn't it? The Sculpted Back Hair Of Scott Baio oh man I'm losing it.

I totally heart complicated conspiracy websites.

Pyramid of action figures. Make sure you look at the "more photos" slideshow so you can see the seminar of Ewoks.

?The Internet Museum of Flexi-Records.

Does anything in nature despair except man? An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.

---May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

Hmmm. I don't know if that helps or not, Ms. Sarton. I mean, way to be quasi-Buddhist and all, but I think I still prefer to thrash about and wail. Privately, textually, to close and trusted friends---not necessarily publicly or messily---but imitating a tree is not going to help with the psychic pain thing because people are already too closed in, too unwilling to be changed. Speak on it. Connect.

Boy I sure am given to oracular pronouncements today.

---mimi smartypants surrendered peacefully after a nine-hour standoff.


join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
Powered by