Why did that woman fix her hair while the car was in motion without putting at least one hand on the steering wheel? And there was a kid in the back seat, aside from early morning traffic on Toronto Road. Honestly.
General conclusions so far, in the context of driving: men are aggressive assholes, women are stupid.
Did uis get new signs around campus, perhaps for their change into a four-year, undergraduate university? Or has it been a few years since I last paid attention?
Sending emails to myself is nice.
Trapped at work I am, with new software that negates the hours and hours I'd spent over summer for a task in which I wrote scripts – and a corresponding manual – to take care of. It negates any reason for me to setup new scripts today. These realizations came after lunch, after I tinkered more closely with the program. It has left me sitting here for the last two hours, with eyes that grow tired of staring at the screen aimlessly. I feel as fat as I've ever been. I can no longer search for shoes.
I'm bored. IM BORED! Help!
Help?
Help…
(In previewing this entry, I experienced de ja vu. Strange.)
I had a strange dream last night.
I was walking towards my grandma's mansion in what looked to be California or Mexico – the architecture looked Spanish, at least – and I walked off the long drive way onto a path laden with flat stones. As I walked, there was a little beggar child asking for money, but I told him to leave, and he eventually did after a few rejected pleas.
I walked up some stone steps now, carved out of a big hill. At the top of the steps I found a large room with three walls and windows carved out from the back walls. My Salim uncle was there, only he was a lean gorilla. Yes, the animal gorilla.
There were three other gorillas, and four normal people in karate uniforms in the middle of the room. My uncle started running and grabbed one of the normal people – a child – and then everyone got into their stances and began practicing throws and such.
It was some time after this dream that I had to pee, so I walked to the bathroom. Normally, I trust my aim, but I felt a bit unsteady at the time, so I sat down. Normally, I also think to myself that something will reach out from the shower curtains and grab me or scare me in some other way, and tonight was no exception.
There was almost total silence before and after the peeing. Very unsettling. The quietness intensified the echoes of cracks and snaps and the eerie whir of circulating air from within the vents. I was expecting to hear voices or shrieks. In fact, I heard a short moan, or at least I thought I did. I don't think it was imagined.
I flushed, got my pajamas back up, washed my hands, then flushed again so that there would be some noise to break the silence as I walked back to my room, finally within the safety and comfort of my blanket.
Anyway, the weekend was relaxing and a slight waste. Instead of starting an assignment I should've been working on all break, I got caught up in The Fellowship of the Ring. Read around 280 pages over 12 hours; even longer if you count distractions. I'm a slow, slow reader.
But there are donuts this morning. A half-eaten, frosted, cream-filled critter is sitting to my left, awaiting my full attention.
PS – George Ryan did the right thing with the commutations.
I've recently started watching more Food Network again, and I saw a show this morning called Paula's Home Cooking. Today's show centered around ice cream. (One interesting little fact I learned is that milking cows can produce over 100 pounds of milk a day. I wonder how her udders feel.)
Anyway, I'm watching with interest, but then the host Paula – a full-figured, classy souther woman, I suppose, in her 50s or beyond – says something that really captures my ears. She says she ‘get[s] off᾿ on cooking when she gets to use her hands and stuff. She loves to ‘touch it, taste it, smell it᾿. As she's shaping it (a mud cake, with an Oreo crust and an enormous amount of ice cream) she says, with a bit of a playful undertone, ‘it's a nasty, dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it. Might as well be me᾿.
The best, of course, is when she's putting the cake in the freezer after she's done: ‘we don't want this boy to go soft on us᾿.
Some might argue that I'm taking it out of context, but there were too many little references in five minutes to be a coincedence. Naughty old woman.
I'm strangely energetic and happy now. The skies are clear and the sun is illuminating the deadened plants and harvested fields most beautifully, I've had tea and assorted chocolates to cap off breakfast, and Pedro the Lion and Pinback seem to tie things together. I must have some sort of fun today. Like…going to Barnes & Noble…eh, I dunno. Maybe read. Computer work? Damn Springfield for not having much.
Short hair is liberating. I'll never again grow it long.
I've been strangely exhausted the past two days, in bed by 9 and waking up tired. I've woken up with a headache the past three days, and the headaches have stayed with me all day. Right now I feel ick.
Tiffany thinks it might be dehydration, though I don't think I've changed my water-drinking habits recently. Rather than take a chance, I will verge towards water poisoning (the culprit of death which people generally attribute to Ecstasy).
My hair is like Martin Sheen's, except thinner and not as nice. I'm growing a beard again to save myself from shaving. My neckline is unkempt. These three things make look like a trashy 80s revival of some sort, I think.
I learned from my cousin Roni that Missy Elliot is a lesbian. Honestly, I wasn't as shocked as I should've been; you could just tell. Anyway, he knows this because he's seen her at a club or two in south Florida with Trina (I think; the girl affiliated with Trick Daddy). Celebrity news you can use. Take that, ET.
Oh, and why is Bush re-nominated Charles Pickering after showing no support for Trent Lott? I feel relatively sorry for Lott, actually. Media can't do more than act like a high school rumor mill? Let the past remain a memory if he's changed? Oh well. Bush comes from a long line of evil bastards.
Cheers to the American presidency.
I just heard a mouse scratching along the back of my bookshelf, or in-between the walls.
The mouse that once evaded multiple captures was found dead last night, its head (or was it neck) crushed by a springy metal bar. Poor thing.
I'm back from the best vacation ever [thus far]. Too lazy to bore the world with details now. But there were many several moments where I felt as if my body was made up of tiny blocks. And that I could feel different parts of my body being displaced at different times. And I sometimes visualized soundwaves through paintings on the blocks that rippled and danced and shuffled around. And I made the blocks spin in different ways and felt the movement in whatever part of my body the blocks were shifting.
It makes sense. I just need to improve my way with words.
