Friday, Nov. 28, 2003 / 4:22 p.m.

~Bring It All To My Door~

I have two chores that I'm way behind in accomplishing, the novel and my subscription to Entertainment Weekly. One's writing, the other reading, and I am stuck with both. I'm thinking the novel won't happen, it was more than I could chew, I bit off a huge chunk, tackled an absurd project, and made it about me, a novel of my life in third person, and I really can't believe I wrote over 13,000 words. I always held fast to thinking I could do it, I could just keep writing my life until I hit 50,000, but then I'd get on my computer, read diaries and journals and post to both, read news articles and leave comments on journals at LiveJournal, and spend hours just fucking around, never even opening MS Word.

It's the 28th, and part of me still thinks I could sit here and write, type, until my wrists hurt, my fingers go numb. But I won't.

Then I think I'll sit and read, what is it now?, six issues?, but I won't do that either most likely. I have the most tremendous difficulty accomplishing anything that I feel 'needs' doing. I feel compelled to live a decadent lifestyle, doing only as I please, sleeping or watching absurd amounts of television, movies on cable, sleeping to the TV, or writing online, chatting with people on AIM for hours at a time. Time is all relative right now, it means so very little.

So it is.

The temperature has dropped, again, after yesterday's rains the wind still blows in clouds and sunshine filled skies, and Kukla came to bring me her mother's cornbread dressing, wearing only a shortsleeved denim minidress and clogs.

I didn't even open all the foil to see what else is on the plate, and I'm not ashamed, I do not feel like a shut-in, but it was a nice thing for her to do.

Part of me wants to go out, anywhere and everywhere, and another part, larger I suppose, is fully enjoying a life lived with cats and TV, computer, too much to read and too much to write.

My cousin sent me a long letter, so I need to respond to that too. So much to do, so little desire. This is perfect.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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Run, Kitty, Run!

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