I'm alive, I'm alive!

Honest. I am. Really.

Okay. Actually, this is being posted from beyond the grave.

I've spent the week trying to sleep and act like a normal person. As you can tell this hasn't really worked.

Partially, I've just done nothing but work. But. Wednesday, I actually did something productive. I put all of my clothes away, and filled the laundry basket with a load of them, and folded a ton of extraneous sheets and blankets.

I came home that night, after work, to find my makeshift closet/shelf had collapsed.

I think it's a metaphor for my life, really. One step forward, 13 back.

We've finally got someone new on the desk at work. Don tells me I should figure out what days I want to be off next week. I ain't holding my breath.

Took the dogs in the car today. They love going on a drive. Little buggers.

Saw Poirot and Demon Knight tonight. Happyme. Drama, mystery, and funky ass nifty angles and direction.

Also, I finally got to see the end.

I have decided there is no one who can ever play Poirot, except David Suchet. The man is SO Poirot down to the last little mannerism and movement, and etc. Sigh.

I'm now rereading the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books. Already in the middle of the Restaurant at the end of the Universe... Well, I ran out of Rumpole books to read.

Stupid Borders didn't have ANY Rumpole. Dumbasses.

Bed soon.

Random Thoughts

I was a bit slap-happy before the con last week... I'd realised that carrying something close to 400 dollars around was a bad idea. Especially if it was, say, in my pocket. So I devised the simple solution of stuffing it into a small change purse, and setting the change purse inside my bra. It wasn't noticeable, and it fit neatly, so it worked.

At one point, I went into the public library, and had an almost irresistable urge to go up and pay my fines... And reach into my shirt to get my cash.

*snicker* I believe my mental words were something to the effect of, "with my cash in my bra--I could really startle some librarian."

Also, as I was eating lunch in Fazoli's, I was reminded of the night before, when I was watching HBO's Real Sex. There was a lady doing a fellatio workshop... I'll never look at breadsticks in quite the same way ever again.

On to Gateway. I don't know if I mentioned this before or not, but...

I was watching people on Saturday--as is my normal wont--and realised something as Laurell Hamilton stalked down the hall towards the area I was in. Colour her hair brown, add glasses, and Laurell is an uncanny dead ringer for Frito. Maybe it's the attitude. Sort of a take no prisoners, don't screw with me thing. I also think it would be scary to have Tappy and Laurell and Frito in the same room.

On a more irritated note, I noticed a lot of the normal political crap going on at Gateway... So, in their honour, I wrote a poem. You will notice (as I have) that I've begun to write song lyrics. All I need is a guitar, and I can feel all folksy.

Populated halls
Empty so quick
Bickering politicians
Political shit

Creating a vacuum
Venial and trite
Cons without people
World without life

(*snicker*, yes, no life)

It's boring, you bastards
Dull and slow
The cause of this deadness
Internal strife

Hrm. Needs work...

Also.

There is no solution
to political strife
except being
intelligent
and acting
kind

Anyway. Was thinking about Douglas Adams the other night at work. Am Thinking seriously about filking 'Candle in the Wind' in his honour.

Meanwhile...

And he is gone
the farer of stars
Gone to somewhere
Laughter will fill
Without us
Silence, still
No more to give
the Answer
Infinitely Probable
Death
--is but a door
And the Question
Never found
Despite years, centuries
wastelands
of Philosophy

Melancholy Happiness... Heh.

Anyway. seems to be all I've got, for now.