1. the congealed crap in the corners of the bowl that was used to microwave mushrooms and cheese into a gross-looking but in fact quite delicious mushroom cheese conglomoration three hours ago.
2. the article on brittany spears that someone felt obligated to put up in the bathroom.
3. the stuff i found under my bed yesterday while on a mad-but-shortlived spring cleaning spree.
4. large bugs.
5. a dozen dozen.
sorry about that last one, but i'm a dork and i couldn't think of anything else. :: 20:19
(speak)
...
and somehow, suddenly, it's past five and i've done nothing today that would be considered, in capitalist american terms, productive.
i, however, feel entirely sated and content and pleasantly weary. the wind is whispering of rain, adam duritz is wailing about blue buildings and something in a shade of grey, i've got two loads of clean clothes, clean sheets, and clean towels smiling at me from the laundry basket, and the teapot is starting to hum.
life is good. :: 17:25
(speak)
...
:: april 19, 2002 ::
i don't want to put clothes on.
ever have one of those days? :: 13:30
(speak)
...
the blindshadow stripes are on her side of the room now, and fall across her bed in the morning.
big, fat drops to match the bass of the thunder and offset by sharp slices of lightning, dalmationspotting the sidewalk and skittering pedestrians along the eaves.
the ice cream store was tragically closed, so we meandered over to our favorite mexican restaraunt instead. stepping inside, wet and steaming, the air conditioner was a sweetsoft blow between the eyes. split a drink with two bendystraws, fully aware of our syrupsweetness as we gazed droolingly into each other's eyes. we walked back slowly, swinging our arms.
"am i going to see you tonight?"
he hesitates.
"you can say no," i offer, hoping he won't, knowing he will.
taking off my socks when i get home, i discover that my right ankle is bleeding from where my favorite shoes grew fangs overnight. :: 20:11
(speak)
...
:: april 17, 2002 ::
i feel silent in a way that no amount of music has been able to change, regardless of how loud i try to sing along. :: 23:36
(speak)
...
and horray for comments, from uigui.net, via a lovely little blog called it's not an octopus (which it isn't. it's a lovely little blog).
so, thanks to both parties, and especially to the non-octopian site for giving me a sidebar as well. :: 20:54
(speak)
we arrive at art history ten minutes late, try to unobtrusively find a seat at the back. the professor is enthusiastically demonstrating albertian perspective with a yardstick and chalk, and i murmur that we should have just stayed in bed. twenty minutes later, the drawn-out yelp of the fire drill garners an angry, just-this-side-of-vulgar gesture from the professor, and muted cheers from the class.
outside, the heat hits us like the back of a hand. :: 13:00
(speak)
...
:: april 16, 2002 ::
it feels tropical outside. dark and warm and humid, makes me think of watching lightening storms in singapore and fire-lit mexican buffets.
an over-zealous headache had me slinking out of paint call a few hours early, planning to stumble home and sleep. i felt better once i was outside, deep gulping breaths beneath brilliant streetlighted trees, decided that i would work on my design project some more once i got home.
now that i'm back inside, my headache seems to have remembered that it had a job to do, and all the little people in my head are studiously excavating the backs of my eyes.
evilglue fumes don't much help, either. :: 21:06
(speak)
...
:: april 15, 2002 ::
today's odd sensation: filing the dried evilglue off my fingers with sandpaper. :: 23:34
(speak)
...
i am definitely sitting in my underwear, reading cosmo and eating strawberries, waiting for my gold-painted nails to dry.
i do so love being a girl sometimes. :: 20:03
(speak)
...
i'm afraid to take my contacts out because my fingers are coated in evilglue. they look all chemicalburnt and they've turned grey and i can't feel my thumbs.
the warning says, "in case of eye contact, do not use acetone or fingernail polish remover."
