Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Crankypants I thought I had something to write about, but when I opened up the screen and put my hands to the keyboard, it all went away to the same dimension in space where socks disappear and dustbunnies are nurtured until they are old enough to be sent off to their new home under my futon. The OtherList continues to be full of meaningless, made-up jargon and wrongheaded misreadings of the text, inbetween regular postings of the reading schedule. So far, I've only identified three people actually posting, one of them being the Creature From The Jargon Lagoon that now runs the list. My attention span is being sorely tested. Really, I spent most of yesterday in a foul mood, triggered by being tired from work and then having to spent time in the proximity of the drummer and guitarist in Bemo's band, who are both nice enough guys, but occasionally grate on me exactly the wrong way. The drummer was in full manic mode, where everything he thought was funny had to be said at the top of his lungs. This was in the middle of a restaurant. Despite an interlude where I went over to Persia's and watched "About A Boy" with her and sherrydarling, I still was quite cranky. Bemo came home after playing out at about four am, and I was still awake, with my mind buzzing, full of random images and phrases. My body was too tight, too tense, to fall over the edge into sleep, although I was horribly tired. But it's a new day, and a nice warm one, and everything is better. 4:03 p.m. - 2003-02-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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