saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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And yet...no blunt-force head trauma recently...
I started school this week. So did the offspring. I�m also trying to get myself ready to leave for Chicago tomorrow�
(Pardon me for just a minute. [INANE, EXCITED SQUEALING]. Smacking myself in the face to make it stop. Disabling the internal alarm bells that go off when my estrogen levels reach a critical high. Okay, onward�)
�and I�m supposed to go to the movies with my sister and a friend tonight. What of packing and preparations for the trip? Phhht. I�m a whirlwind, spur-of-the-moment type of gal!
Shhh. Okay, fine. I�m a minor-dust-devil, get-ready-late-the-night-before type of gal!
�
A gentle-breeze, list-making, cross-referencing, annoying-as-all-hell, control freak?
Fuck all. I�ll just pretend that my lack of preparations isn�t bothering me, then. Happy?
In light of my tight schedule, I�ll just give you all a quick entry. But Special! Extra Special! Now with even less substance than usual!
Since I leave for work before my daughter wakes up the morning, I try to call her before she leaves for school, to let her know I�m thinking of her and to tell her to have a good day (yes, that�s an order).
Today, I actually used the words, �Okay, well. I just called to say I love you.�
It took all of my will power not to follow it up with �I just called to say I care.� Although, in retrospect, I might have derived some strange satisfaction from how very, very lost that joke would have been on a child of nine.
I�m also glad that no one happened to be nearby to overhear me. As it was, the song immediately wound itself around my brain stem, tenacious enough to kick aside other maddening tunes that I find inexplicably running through my head when I wake up in the morning. Like �Forever in Blue Jeans� and �Hot for Teacher.� I�m beginning to think that I�m suffering from a disorder in which some of the worst songs ever recorded grow into my brain like pulsating tumors, and they are ever so slowly driving me toward violence. If someone had actually started singing to me like the Wonder Man himself, I�m fairly certain I would have had a psychotic episode. And I would have come to, crouched behind a building across town, lacking one shoe and the last three hours of my life.
Who knows what I might have done in those three hours�? I take it upon myself to find clues about my missing past. A street-smart, sympathetic slab-o-hotness just happens to be passing by at that exact moment, and is taken in by my pathetic plight, offering to assist.
For reasons yet unknown, I am not only pursued by the police, but also by the CIA, FBI, three different organizations of terrorists, and a pack of ninjas.
That�s what a group of ninjas is called, right? A pack? Yeah, I think that�s right.
So I�ve roped this kindly big-ol�-pile-o-good-looks into a very dangerous situation. At some point, we�ll most likely have passionate sex that is completely uninterrupted by any terrorists or ninjas or gunfire. But there will be tragic, sweet music. And then s/he will probably die violently.
Yeah.
I told you. My schedule is fucking full.
12:39 p.m. - 2004-08-26
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