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Stress test
It feels like ages since the last time I posted--though I suppose it really isn't that long at all--and I keep thinking, boy, I really need to sit down and just say hello, and then I don't, not really because I don't have anything to say, but because. I don't know, really. Things keep distracting me. Nothing rivetingly important, but somehow in all the to-do I never manage to open my update client.
Here are a few of my late distractions:
So, anyway, Hi. I think that was all, in the end, that I meant to say.
Here are a few of my late distractions:
- My friend L's departure to foreign parts. Because I am reasonably reserved in company, L probably has no idea of the huge pity-party which I held in her honor, but LET ME TELL YOU I AM SO VERY SORRY TO SEE HER GO. Who am I going to call when I want someone to tell me that my idea of the Quentin Tarantino theme motel is brilliant? Well, probably I will call her still. BUT DAMN IT. It is not the same, I tell you. I miss her very much already. But I do wish her the best of luck on her first day of work.
- Season One of Angel, which I'm surprised to find out I've seen a good bit of it. I tend to think that I haven't seen many episodes of the series at all, but unless just by accident the random episodes I have seen have all been Season One eps (and they can't have been), then I've seen much more than I think I have. God. Does that sentence make any sense at all? I don't know that it does.
- A little stomach bug, which I am unfairly blaming on the Indian restaurant we went to on Sunday. More likely it was just overeating catching up--two big restaurant meals in one day!--but man, I felt dry-toast-and-Sprite-ish for a couple of days there, and am only just getting to the point where lying down to sleep seems like a good idea again.
- The Voice of God--suddenly, I am imagining Alanis Morissette--which spoke to me last night on my way home from work. See, there are about three or four houses here in Macon that I drive by every now and then where I think, oh, God, if only that house were ever put on the market at a time when I was looking for a house, I would consider it to be a Sign. And last night I realized that one of them, a Craftsman cottage in my neighborhood, was up for sale. It is pretty, this little Craftsman cottage, but no prettier than any one of a dozen houses I know, and I haven't even seen the inside and I don't really have any reason for loving this house unreasonably over almost all others. But I do. I really, really do. So much that when I got to work this morning the first thing I did was call my real estate agent, which, if you know procrastinating, excuse-making me, is a big deal. I will be meeting this house for a blind date on Friday morning, along with one or two others. Wish me luck.
- This review meeting at work we're having because I fucked up. I am assured that it happens to everyone, sooner or later, that a programming error gets past an analyst and causes a problem in an office somewhere. And that these meetings are more brainstorming sessions than criminal investigations, but even knowing this, of course I am still obsessing over it. HOW COULD I HAVE SCREWED THIS UP MY FATHER IS RIGHT I AM NOT TO BE TRUSTED WITH ANY SORT OF RESPONSIBILITY. You know, that sort of thing. My little porcupiny stress-ball is getting quite a workout this week.
- My hair, which has not been cut in four months and which still looks okay--thanks to the decent haircut I got to fix the horrible one I got right before it--but which I have begun examining very closely every morning in the mirror in manner of aging starlet looking for wrinkles. I have to say that I am not really sure I trust a haircut that can go for four months without incident, and so I am expecting things to go horribly wrong any day now. And why, you may be asking yourself, does she not just schedule an appointment for a haircut? To you I reply, That is just the way I am.
- New journal layout, which originally was created around one of my all-time favorite fonts, Tom's New Roman, but I have since discovered that this font looks perfectly crappy on machines that can't smooth fonts the way Windows XP can, and so I am regretfully abandoning my plan and using safer fonts instead.
- Flight Plan: are you kidding me? Who thought this one up, a bunch of nine-year-olds? I can just imagine them sitting at the table saying, and wouldn't it be cool if...? Without thought to logic or believability. Do you know what, though? To my shame, I thought it was fun. Jodie Foster, Peter Sarsgaard of the dead, dead eyes, Sean Bean, Greta Scacchi, yum!
So, anyway, Hi. I think that was all, in the end, that I meant to say.
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Bullet Point #3: Isn't it shamefully easy to blame wherever/whatever you ate last? I'm still convinced that barbecue-flavored Fritos were somehow responsible for the worst stomach bug I've ever had. My sister similarly victimizes apple juice and gingersnaps. Glad you're feeling better!
Bullet Point #4: Ooooooooooooooh I love that house! I hope your blind date goes spectacularly. Is it in your price range? How is the neighborhood? Will it have regrettable linoleum inside, or will there be charming retro tile? Let us know how it goes!
And also, hi!
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:D :D ;D
Re: :D :D ;D
Re: :D :D ;D
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I miss you too and it's possible that this city is already driving me insane both metaphorically and literally.
I hope it wasn't the Indian food that made you sick :-(
New management? Boo, hiss, I say.
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3. I had that too. IT WAS THE INDIAN FOOD OMG.
4. Ooooh. I hope your house shows up in a plaid bow tie for its date.
5. :0 :0 :0
7. That is an extremely spiff new layout you've got.
PS. :D
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I've had little to say myself lately, or not really, not of any substance.
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