ho hum, the weather of birth

all that's happened is that blogging has replaced tetris as the fixation task that can be completed from my bed.

right now putt-putt the cat is licking otis the cat's eyebrow.

right now miriam is coming over for a birthday hello, and some gatorade.

just now miriam dropped off the gatorade (she knew not to buy me the lemon-lime kind because of its color, and bought me orange and blue instead--it's nice, the feeling of someone knowing these things).

earlier ryan said he will kill me. i don't remember why. something about blogs.

speaking of death, my old boss sent me a birthday e-card in which she said she's seen many people recently who look like me, and that usually happens to her when someone dies. that, in combination with my tendency to spiral into my own brain when ill, was not particularly helpful. there is consolation in the fact that heaven probably does not resemble hampden, but maybe that's what i get.

more death: watched 'that obscure object of desire.' didn't like it as much as i'd hoped, especially once i found out that using two separate actresses for the same role was an accident (more of a capitalization i guess), not a plot device.

i have to go make sure i'm alive by eating a microwave dinner.

i think at this point i'm only keeping a journal so that i can have some type of conversation with the few people who i know will read this. i hate 'i.'

how's your dad?
how's your dad?

1 comment:

Ryan W. said...

I didn't say I will definitely kill you. actually I said "we will kill you," and I mean to imply a nascent cabal of times infinity readers. and I said we would kill you if you delete the blog, which you suggested you might do, but I didn't think you would really do, and am increasingly of the opinion that you won't do that. but I do think it is a common affliction that bloggers have, the near constant desire to delete the whole thing.