normalcy is coursing through my veins
Wednesday, February 26, 2003

I am a total fucking idiot when it comes to guys.

Tuesday, February 25, 2003
I have:

fantastic, brand-new grey pants that are so soft I have to resist the urge to pet my own leg.

a new mix cd that makes me squeal with glee.

a sore throat that won' t go away no matter how many cups of honeyed tea I drink nor how many doses of Advil and Sudafed I down.

an enormous amount of work to do.

Thursday, February 20, 2003
If you think like Thomas Edison, could you invent a world for me?

I wish I were nine years old again, just so I could attend Rock n Roll Camp for Girls. (link via the Morning News)

Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Weekend: the short version

Pasta, fruity drinks with umbrellas, red wine, cheese and crackers, Dylan songs, NPR while half-asleep, anti-war protest, mid-afternoon pints of beer and pub food, a long lazy evening curled up on someone else's couch, homemade hot cocoa and the Sunday Times, catch-up phone calls, soup-making, cookie-baking, a walk in the snow, a day spent in pajamas doing work reading and napping, occasionally staring out the window.


Thursday, February 13, 2003
Helpful hints

When the cafeteria says "Tuscan Vegetable," it means "Minestrone."

Salty edamame plus severely chapped lips equals a sudden and profound understanding of why puffy lips might be referred to as "bee-stung." Ow.

Drinking multiple pints of beer without having eaten dinner, then staying up almost all night, then trying to make it through the workday? Not such a great plan.

If standing in an echo chamber-like ladies room with a door that doesn't quite close all the way, it might be advisable to avoid talking loudly about, say, how you think your boobs look droopy today, lest that poor man whose cubicle is right outside the ladies room stare at your chest and probably forever after think of you as that droopy-boobed girl.

Tuesday, February 11, 2003
For Virginia lovers

I took a seminar on Virginia Woolf the semester I studied in England. I am totally fascinated by her. I loved Michael Cunningham's The Hours. I was not quite so keen on the movie version. This article, written by Woolf biographer Hermione Lee, articulates some of my frustrations much more succinctly than I could have done myself. (link via The Morning News)

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

Still on hiatus, but thinking maybe serious lack of sleep for a week straight had something to do with the state I was in when I wrote what used to be here. I'm feeling better about things today.

Tuesday, February 04, 2003
My dashboard's locked, I guess I feel fine

I started my day off with "Texas Never Whispers," and I think it's appropriate to end with it as well.

I am still at the office. Please note the time. You know it's bad when you're making microwave mac and cheese to eat at your desk at nine p.m. This whole moving offices business? Giant pain in the ass. I don't recommend it. My coworkers were drinking rum and coke in the hallways this afternoon, mingling amongst the dumpsters full of wasted paper. At some point, there were midgets wandering around and I thought I was hallucinating. But no, actual midgets. (I didn't say dwarves, Ms. B.) There was also a faux-thug email conversation. No real thugs, though, alas. Do I sound like I'm rambling? I am.

The only person I feel sorrier for than myself right now is the poor cleaning woman who is attempting to empty our overfilled trash bins. I just emptied mine for her, and she gave me a look like, Thanks for the thought and all, but there are a hundred more just like it.

There was maybe going to be a point somewhere, but I can't remember what it is now. All I know is that I stayed an extra five minutes to write this, which means I am clearly losing my mind.

Monday, February 03, 2003
A moment of reflection

I spent Friday night on a sofa bed in my friends' new apartment. After getting only three hours of sleep, we woke up early Saturday morning to get to Ikea before the Saturday hordes arrived. As we were eating breakfast, we heard that Columbia was missing. In the car on our way to Ikea, we heard on the radio the confirmation that it was lost, that debris was falling from the sky in Texas. We talked about where we were when Challenger exploded. Sean was in school, but Whitney and I were both home sick that day. I was delirious. I'd been having a fever-dream about being scalped by the Native American dolls my aunt had recently purchased for me, and when the news came on the television, it upset me so much that I cried for hours. Whitney remembers being fairly practical about it, thinking that being an astronaut was like being in the army, that there was always a chance you would die. I supposed that was true, but the idea of a teacher being so excited to go into space and then dying was what really got to me. I was eight years old and I remember it so clearly, it still makes me get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

What makes me even sicker is this news from msnbc, regarding the Columbia debris:
Within hours of Saturday’s accident, listings for pieces of debris began appearing on the eBay Internet auction site. The company quickly removed them.

What is wrong with people?

I'd settle for a cup of coffee, but you know what I really need

I just read an eye-opening article about parasomniacs. Having struggled with insomnia off and on since I was a wee tyke, I am always fascinated by sleep-related articles. Thanks to The Morning News for the link.

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