I Have Nothing to Say Today

What am I going to do this weekend? Maybe I will take back my library books, and maybe I will dust off my sewing machine and make something. Heck, maybe I will even make a big concerted effort to get my kitchen cleaned up. I know my roommate would like it if the kitchen was clean. Not that the desire for a clean kitchen provokes any kind of action on part of the aforementioned individual, you understand. Probably I will just eat cookies, throw them up and then read.

What am I reading right now? Mercedes Lackey, although really the quality of her work has gone seriously downhill and I feel a little like I'm slogging through mud. A little MaryJanice Davidson on the CD player (Vampire Queen Betsy is the bestest!), and then possibly Freakanomics by Stephen Levitt, because who doesn't love a rock star economist. If I come up for air after that, I could do yard work. Stop snickering, I said I COULD do yard work.

What else? Oh! It's eggnog latte season, that always makes me happy, and pretty soon the few retailers who didn't put up Christmas decorations before Halloween will have their lights up. I think I'm going to put some lights up myself this year. Because I did buy some lights last year, and it seems a profligate waste not to use them again. Or maybe I'll go buy new ones. I don't know.

What I really need is a good pattern for making DNA out of common household chemicals. Because I have a theory... And why should the science geeks get all the fun cloning stuff?

Bibliophilia

I completely adore the public library. I do. It is the only thing standing between my voracious desire to consume books, and utter financial ruin. (If there were a religion based on Erasmus, I would totally be there.) And my library has a particularly excellent system of allowing patrons to suggest purchases, which are very often made, and then put on hold for the patron (or patrons?) who suggested the purchase. It's really super duper good.

This being the case, me loving libraries AND having the fortune or foresight to live in a city with a good library system...no actually three good ones in reasonable distance to where I often am, now that I think of it, why is it that I am drowning in books? You'd think that I wouldn't have such an insatiable need to own the damn things, as you can really only enjoy one or two (depending on your view of books on tape) at a time. Why isn't the library, the most marvelous library, enough to keep me from burdening myself with all these damn books. Because I move a lot, and lets face it, nineteen boxes of books are heavy!

Whatever it is, I don't have any interest in giving up my books. They anchor me somehow, or maybe they shield me. Yes, that's it. They shield me from the danger of waking up in the middle of the night and not having anything to read. Also, if I'm ever homeless, I could build a shelter from the boxes. Of course, in the event of an earthquake, I would be crushed. Also, they're my retirement fund. You know what, I don't have to justify those books. They are what they are, and I love them for themselves, strained muscles and all.

I do wish book cases were cheaper though.

Staring at Infinity

I had another conversation yesterday about why I don't get married. I hate these conversations because they are all purely and totally a bunch of me spouting bullshit, and not knowing whether to think other people are pathetic for not seeing through it, or I'm pathetic for being so transparent. There's just no way to say that the reason I don't get married is that I've spent more years of my life than I really want to think about with someone who doesn't want to marry me.

What does that say about me? Clearly I'm damaged, because why else would I waste my life this way? (As opposed to what way? We don't have enough time for that.) And even though I've brought it up, I'm not willing to push the issue, because even though this really doesn't work for me, having less than I have now would work even less. I don't have the energy to try to find someone else, especially not after all the hours I spend entering sweepstakes and applying over and over to astronaut training. I need therapy. Unfortunately about the only kind I'm willing to consider at the moment is massage therapy, and that's not going to get me anything but a little extra sleep. I can get that thinking about my future.

Astronaut Training

http://liftoff.msfc.nasa.gov/academy/astronauts/training.html

The First Post is the Deepest

I have a very definite streak of emotional exhibitionism. When you add that to a total lack of interest in doing any constructive work, you get a blog. Or specifically this blog, in which I intend to explore why I am so completely miserable, and yet entirely unable to make any lasting changes in life. It's going to be boring, I assure you, filled with references to eating binges (of which there are many), children, bodily functions, tirades about laundry and dirty kitchens, and other unbelievably mundane excerpts of every day life. Just for fun however, I'll add in the spicy details of some completely made-up life here and there. You decide which is real. Honestly, I'm not sure.