Something like life
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2002-01-07 04:32:18 (UTC)

Sunday Sunday Sunday

Sundays are weird. They're sort of in their own little
category, not really fitting into the routine of weekdays
or the "fun" activities of the weekend. Usually they're a
day for going grocery shopping and doing dishes, or just
lazing about talking about doing said chores and getting
around to them sometime late in the evening. I hate
Sundays. I think they should be eliminated altogether and
replaced with something more efficient, like "Chaosday".
On "Chaosday", people could run around in their bathing
suits cackling at the moon and licking iced seaweed pops.
The little ferret children could come out to play. The
rivers would turn to chocolate, traffic cones would sing
their merry songs, and all would be right with the universe.

Today, I made a really big mess in the kitchen. Toon's
girlfriend Dru is here for the winter holiday, and she
decided we were going to make graham cracker houses. Well,
I ended up making a few strange looking things that went
directly into the garbage, whilst caking my person with
frosting "cement". Toon on the other hand was neat to the
point of being anal-retentive, even adding red candy
crystal "carpeting" to his two-story cracker condo. I built
something that could either be a temple or a rebel base
that I plan to eat for breakfast tomorrow with a glass of
milk. I was going to make TIE-fighters but the crackers
were too small and I hadn't the patience to wait for the
cement to harden. I haven't made a mess like that since I
was a little kid. It was fun, but the clean-up is going to
be a bitch.

Originally, I was supposed to go for an interview at a temp
agency tomorrow morning. I've decided to reschedule just
because "I have a bad feeling about it". Yeah, I know.
Stupid reason. But I also don't have any clean underwear.
And how can I possibly go to an interview without any clean
undies? It's absurd. Suppose I collapsed from boredom in
the waiting area and paramedics had to rush to the scene.
They'd say, "Oh, she wasn't going to get the job anyway,
she had crusty underwear. And her bra smells funky."

Anyway, since I won't be doing anything tomorrow, I'm
staying up tonight. I think. I'm already getting kind of
tired, to be honest. As if that weren't evident from my
ramblings. Incidentally, dear reader, if you get confused,
always remember that I force myself to write, free-form,
even if I don't have a damn thing in my brain worth
relating to another human being. It's how I end up with
rare inspiration WORTH writing about, just sort of keeping
the old brain-cells oiled and in working order for the rare
occasion that something intelligent happens to cross their
neurochemical paths.

I like cheese.

Well, goodnight. I might make more sense tomorrow, or I
might like a nice pair of boots with cream filling.

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