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Saturday, Oct. 11, 2003 / 10:17 p.m. ~Good Thing I Remembered, Huh?~ Oh hey, I think I was really close to forgetting to update my diary. I've been stuck at LiveJournal, seeing how many entries I can post without one single comment - some juicy stuff too. I know, I know, it's not about the comments, but if you look around, yeah, it's all about the comments. Here, I seldom get any response about anything, and we've been all through this before, ad nauseum, but it's nice when it's nice, there's no denying that. Oooh, big surprise! I slept late and haven't done a damned thing all day! Typical Saturday. I had grand intentions, for accomplishing chores anyway, chores which have needed accomplishing for weeks, quite literally indeed. My motto, or one thereof anyway: Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? This is so true, n'est-ce pas? Mais bien sur! And damned skippy too. No, really, I cleaned up my email inbox, deleted some email, wrote some email, read diaries and journals and the front page of the NYT online, I got bored, got up, walked around my apartment, ate some food, watched some of the Thrashers game (win numero deux, keep it up, boys!), and I've been scrounging LJ looking for new journals to add to my 'friends' list, as it's 'friends only' and I want more people to read it, because I am a whore for comments, and lately I've been writing some really personal stuff and I think people are feeling dirty reading it, and showering immediately after, hence no time to comment, or they're all simply dumbfounded and amazed at my writing ability, or my bizarre and boring life, or all of the above. Loss for words, is where they are. At. Really, nothing is going on, but I have a box of Greek pastries, an assortment I chose myself, in my fridge, and I think I need to devour a portion thereof. I kind of want to take some in for Q, but her tastes are so mild and provincial I hate to waste any of it on her. 'John' sent me a really weird email letter, and his settings are such that the text runs all down the side, very annoying, but he clearly wants to start a little fictional game with me, writing a little mutual story, set in Paris, a meeting up of sorts, and I am so not into that, that's not me, I don't do fiction, so I don't know how to respond at all. I'm so bored. I just am. I can think of a million, or maybe ten or so, things I could and should be doing, even watching movies on television, but it's all just so much tripe, so much the same of everything. I'm most dissatisfied without even knowing why. Alas, someone must clean! Cleaning must be done, as I'm tired of living like a moderately slovenly pig. Cost of the War in Iraq
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