slit skirts
10.05.04 @ 12:41 a.m.
Now that Candace has the mix tape I made, I suppose I could post the track list. But that, my friends, would require getting up and finding a copy of the track listing. I have to find one, make a new one to replace the one I arsed up by writing a letter on it, label the remaining two tapes, and get them in the mail. I am lay-zee.
Case in horrible point: I have not done dishes in days. This is why I shouldn't live alone. There is no incentive, except that I am pretty much out of forks as of tonight. If the curry plate had attracted ants overnight the way the pot I made macaroni did one time, then yeah, the dishes would be done. This is me doing nothing of the sort. I feel a little guilty but still completely unmotivated. Is the apathy worse than the outright depression I'm getting on occasion? I'm not really sure which is worse. Actually, I'm not so bad anymore, just lazy with no one to keep me in check. Even the dog made me tidy things up so he wouldn't get ahold of something and chew it to pieces.
Surprisingly, I'm keeping well on top of my reading, except that I haven't gotten my packet for my film class yet. Nor have I done a bit of Folklore reading, but at this point we're just defining terms and it doesn't much matter. I sent the Myths Over Miami article from a while ago (that still makes me slightly leery of mirrors in the dark) to Prof. Wojcik, though he emailed back to say he'd seen it before. I'm glad I dealt with it, though.
I think I passed Fawn/Ryan from Dumbrella in McKenzie Hall today around noon. I have no idea, though. Could be my imagination. Some stranger came up to me at University Station North while I was sitting oblivious, listening to Queen and reading Christ in Concrete for American Lit to tell me that he liked my shirt. I was wearing the "I'm a Rocker, I Rock Out" Diesel Sweeties shirt I bought from M*Nerd a few months ago. It's a shame no one ever gives props to my Scary Go Round shirt, since I think its a superior comic.
I had a dream this morning (either before or after a stress dream where Jodi and I were standing at our high school bus stop in the dark, which happened quite a lot in winter and school busses kept passing us. Then a huge articulated school bus stopped and I got on a different segment than Jo because I felt like I was in a hurry and I was awkward. Her segment had all the high school kids. Mine was all elementary school kids. The segments separated and I kept thinking how I was screwed) that I was meeting with Martha et al in a sunny apartment building parking lot. A boy I'm acquainted with came up to me and pointed out the shirt I was wearing, which he had apparently given me from someplace he'd visited. He called my attention to it by running his hand down the middle of my chest between my breasts, which is odd and very much the same motion that that security guard at Hilton Head airport made when my parents and I got singled out for ridiculous amounts of security. She had to do it a couple of times because the underwires of the bra I was wearing don't sit flat in my cleavage (which probably indicates mis-sizing or something). I think the bus dream must have come first, because I remember a dream about getting prepared to go catch the bus and running late.
Man, I hate stress dreams. The worst ones I have are where I dream I'm trying to climb up a flight of stairs, but I'm too weary to do it. All I can do is lie on them, thinking about how imperative it is for me to get to the top and being nearly unable to move. I always wake up tired.
Um. I know I had other things I meant to write about. Meh, must not be important, then. I know I'm frustrated because I've been impatient about the Dumbrella Telephone Pictionary game since it started, so of course mine is one of the last chains to finish. Others have been done for days now. I used a lyric from the Who's "Success Story"--"There's a rock and roll singer on the television, giving up his music, gonna take up religion." I realize now I should have done "Deserted rock and roll to try to save his soul."
Oohhh, thank heaven for this browser. Outdated Netscape may be, but as yet I've been thwarted in my attempts whenever I've been patient enough to try to download Firefox. Besides, Gmail doesn't work in IE or Safari. Which sucks, because that means I can't use my Gmail account on the school Macs. Damn it. Anyway, the thank heaven was that I accidentally clicked on the link to the diaryland main page and thought I maybe lost all I typed, but it was still there when I hit the back button. Yay!
Corvallis party on Friday. Shaun of the Dead on Saturday. Tomorrow I will be a good girl and call the persistant boy who has called about the house twice, though I would prefer a female housemate. I will try to stay off the internet for... most of the night anyway, because it's becoming a nasty habit that is eating away my time and my eyeballs.
["Slit Skirts" has absolutely nothing to do with this entry, except that I've discovered that I quite like the song (by Townshend, of course) and had the line "Romance, romance, why are we thinking of roooomance?" stuck in my head for a good part of the afternoon.]
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
