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2002-05-12 || 4:17 p.m. || wasting time. lots of it. || i haven't left the apartment. it is 4:17. but i am dressed. i have put on my shoes and taken them off. i have tried on two head scarves and decided against the two of them. i have called me grouchy mum to wish her a happy mummy's day. i talked to me da and we exchanged stories about the cats and their charming devices to wake us up altogether too early in the morning (the meowsy-patented paw at face/rattle blinds maneuver versus laverne's knocking on hutch drawers/scratching at bedroom door). i have called me boyfriend to ruin the surprise of a very nice burgundy cowboy shirt that will fit a lanky boy such as him like a spaghetti western dream. i have felt awful bad about not making it to jeffy's party and not calling jason back and not calling d back and not talking to elkie in a thousand years. i have taken a polaroid of meow lounging about on my desk chair (i am sitting on my bed while i type this. she is sitting on the desk chair). i have made a very nice spinach salad with tomatoes and mushrooms and parmesan cheese and glazed-sassy-as-all-get-out walnuts. this is boring. i am sorry. i have smoked two cigarettes. i have drunk two tall glasses of bubbly water with lemon to combat vodka after effects. i have made my bed, sort of. i have gone through the chest of drawers in my closet to find i wear absolutely nothing it holds (four pairs of black tights, bathing suits, a very trashy white lace bra-bustier thing whose origins completely escape me, a box of staples). i have called my sissy at home and at work, unable to locate her at either to ask her about last night's going away party and leak the news that a high school friend had a baby. i have pulled out etching tools and lino (very dusty, eep.) with intentions to create a lovely smudgy print of a typewriter, only to realize i think the ink and slather-thinger is most likely in michael's bedroom in portland. dag. i might go see a movie down the street. probably not. i might work on birthday presents for die brucke and sean. probably not. i might go to thrift town in search of good cut-up material and roller skates and maybe a nice new red slip. probably not. i might go out of doors. probably not. (i will keep watching sunday afternoon movies on the tele. i will etch the typewriter perhaps halfway and hate it and throw it in a drawer in the kitchen. i will put my shoes on again with intentions of. eh. something. but will take them off when i realize the best idea is to take a wee nap, to pour more of the bubbly, to talk to the cat and think hard about doing laundry.) guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |