look how productive I am

[derien]

I organized my desk - meaning, really, I did nothing at all, because all the mess is not on my bedside table.  But I did throw a few things away, and the desk looks better, which might help me feel better, emotionally.  It actually is a lot cleaner, in fact, because while I had everything off it I wiped it down and came up with a black paper towel, so maybe this will help me feel better physically, as well.  :P  (have had a slightly sore throat forever, but in the past week it got worse, I think because I got myself so run down.)

I balanced my checkbook and wrote out the rent check and my credit card payment, and moved some money to my savings account. 

Also wrote some vapid ramblings on a card for bravecows.  I desperately wish they could have been something terribly witty and wise, but I just don't have it in me at the moment, so I just filled up the back so I could send you the picture.

I did not, however, pick up my next month's birth control patches.  I'll have to somehow fit that in tomorrow morning. 

I did some dishes, but of course created others.  I tried to be conservative, and ate leftover pizza for breakfast, but that still meant a plate and a pan (I heated it in the oven because I thought it would taste better.  It probably did.  I'd hate to have eaten that stuff microwaved.)


I'm not going to work eleven hour days all this week, just Tues/Wed/Thurs.  Today eor needs the car, and Friday I'm going to the book club breakfast.  I wonder if we'll be able to look the waiter in the face and admit we didn't like the book he suggested?  It's  over-the-top in a way that would be camp if it had a sense of humor about itself, but it doesn't. The hitchhiking boy, in quick succession, is running into every stereotype of the worst, most horrible, people you ever imagined a hitchhiking kid might possibly run into - the pervert psycho Christian fanatic, the druggy motorcyclist, and now he's just spotted The Black Van ('Dnn-dnn-DNNNNN!' as camwyn might say).  The bartender Vampire wanders into a random (to him) hick town (where he's destined to meet the hitchhiking boy, who he delivered and left on a doorstep fifteen years before, just to make it that much more over the top) and the first person he speaks to is a profoundly retarded girl swinging a dead rat.  

Interestingly, to me, one of my fellow book-club-members says she asked her son, who is a writer, if he likes Poppy Z. Brite and he loves her, and he has to go lie down after reading one of her books.  It strikes me that, if beauty is a series of successfully strung together cliches, then she's gorgeous.  (Which I think is a bad paraphrase of a line from The Great Gatsby which Mr. Pink quotes every now and then.

oh crap - leaving in 20 min, must shower.

Comments

[derien.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, it was. In fact I think it might even be revealed on the back cover of my copy. No mystery at all to this book. This book has nothing, not even mystery.