Ahhhh, Monday. More accurately: Hork.
2003-09-08
2:22 p.m.

It's Monday, and somehow the fact that it was just Friday night... and then Saturday... and then Sunday... makes the fact that it is Monday just that much crueler. Especially when said previous days involved as much cheese as they did.

Random work aside:

Glagh.

Okay then.

This weekend was awesome. It involved wine and cheese, then scones, then eggs and cheese and collard greens and orange cherry tomatoes from the farm stand (these were all separate meals). It also involved eating outside a lot, reading the paper leisurely, and puttering around the city in search of books, patches of sky, and capuccino. Also on the agenda were many books and cats on laps. I said god damn. I miss you, weekend. We hardly knew ye.

Sometimes I'm not really clear on how to interact with my neighbors. Like, when we both leave the house at the same time and we're both walking to the bus stop, where we will both then stand, then get off, and then ride the T, do we have to walk and then talk together? I really like my neighbors, but sometimes in the morning I am a total idiot. Plus, I have a SYSTEM. It involves purchase and reading of the paper and sitting in a specific seat on the T (PS, I'm insane) and adding new variables could seriously mess me up. I fear new variables. They smell funny.

See? This is mid-afternoon. This is after coffee. Now, imagine me this morning. You wouldn't want to talk to me either.

I'm wearing heels today. I feel like a primal ass hoisting beast. Do you see my hoisted ass, fine hairy fellow? I prefer my non-sexual flats. I also prefer dark colors and the ability to blend in with my surroundings and I wouldn't say no to Cousin It beauty tips. If I could iguana or three toed sloth (please note: 10th grade science was a long time ago and I am extracting these "facts" directly from my camoflaged ass) into a vague version of my desk and chair and wall, I would. But, now that I think about it, I don't think the sloth or the iguana actually blend in by changing, but more by genetically thinking ahead to be colors found regularly in their landscape. Therefore, I would have to have offspring who wanted to blend in with my specific desk and chair in about a thousand years and plan ahead through reproduction and small mutations. And, honestly, if my great great great great great great grandchild is stuck in my crappy PR gig, there is a lot more wrong than would be made right by the fact that they'd look like the carpet and bulletin board.

Ah. Digression.