July 6, 2002
Laundry List
Jillian, a portrait, this sixth day of July, forty-two minutes past the hour...
An hour ago I was sitting in the back of Mike's truck, on a blanket, both of us sitting indian style and talking. He waited for me to get to the bus stop. He kept me company until my parents came to pick me up once we were in the parking lot.
He made working a murderous eight hour shift quite alright in a scant fifteen minutes.
I drove home with my dad and we listened to Chuck Berry's 'Maybelline' twice and The Police's 'Roxanne' once.
Justin told me that Ryan is home this weekend and asked him, "Is your sister still being gay?"
Well, at least he cares.
Today I wore my Argosy uniform, but now I am wearing the dancing monkey pajama pants and a tank top that says 'Goddess,' however untrue.
I like hot bread and turtle cheesecake, salads with red lettuce and mushrooms and black olives and ranch dressing. Heavily peppered. I like the pop-tarts without frosting, preferrably strawberry filled. I've been drinking more water lately. I still don't pee clear.
I am reading Orson Scott Card's Enchantment. I like it. You should read it, too.
I'm also reading Jane Austen's Emma, page 218, J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page 288, Marion Zimmer Bradley's Priestess of Avalon, page 64, and Mists of Avalon, page 4, and Gregory Maguire's Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, page 54.
Which do you predict that I will finish? I am taking bets.
I have a collection of toys on my desk, nestled among the various picture frames and CD's. Yoda, who gives advice in much the same way a magic eight ball would, though with considerably less relevancy; Peter Pan/Robin Hood, who is poised ever for flight; the three monkeys who neither see, hear, nor speak evil; Obi-Wan Kenobi, standing a mere three-to-four inches, light saber brandished; two tiny stuffed monkeys and one tiny stuffed bear in a duck suit.
I weigh somewhere between 120 and 125 pounds, my shoe size is 7 and one half to eight, and I remain a steady five three and three quarters of an inch tall. My new pants are a comfortable size eight. My nails are short and unpainted. My legs are in need of a shave. My stomach is full and happy. There are traces of chap stick on my lips, and two earrings in each ear. Small silver flowers with blue centers, and pink gem studs.
My bug bites itch.
I am listening to Moby's Play, currently track eleven, 'Run On.' I can dig it.
You might hear me listening to Tom waits ('Filipino Box Spring Hog' 'There's Only Alice' 'Chocolate Jesus') or Weezer ('Say it Ain't So' 'Hashpipe' 'Photograph') or Phantom Planet ('In Our Darkest Hour' 'Grip' 'Last Glance') or The White Stripes ('Fell in Love with A Girl' 'We're Going to be Friends' 'Screwdriver') or Gillian Welch ('Paper Wings' 'Pass You By' 'Hickory Wind'). It might just be quiet.
I'm waiting to develop two rolls of film. One black and white, the other color. I hope to have pictures to put on my walls at school.
I'm writing In Another's Footsteps. I'm on page 171. I anticipate somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty more before it is finished.
Maybe you'll read it someday.
I've seen LOTR five times. I am the legitimate Princess of Mirkwood.
I love Run Lola Run, Snatch, Legend, Emma, Willow, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, My Fair Lady, X-Men, The Fast and the Furious, Only You, and all five Star Wars. Though, obviously, Episode One: The Phantom Menace the least.
I go to school in thirty-nine days. I haven't started to pack yet. But I've already made half of a list. I am taking all eight pairs of my pants. I am taking all eight hundred of my seventies thrift shirts.
I don't support cloning. I support a woman's right to choose. I think the drug war is stupid. I'm celibate and sober. I fancy the thought of rethinking the former and am legitimately rethinking the latter. I'm a liberal who stands behind capital punishment and welfare reform. I want to save the trees, but the Greens really kind of freak me out. If I could have one wish for the world it would be an open mind.
I can be found here and here and, of course, here.
Bet you never thought I'd stoop so low as to link myself three times, did you?
This psychotic laundry list doesn't help you to know me any better. It just allows me to waste time talking about myself, which is a very secret passion. In the words of Bridget Jones...
"It's just a diary. Everybody knows diaries are full of crap."
astera at 12:42 a.m.