Tuesday, March 23, 2004

What's wrong:

A subcutaneous goliath is pushing it's way to the surface of my face. It calls out in a foreboding drawl: "I am a large pimple, and I will emerge in time for Thursday's dinner party where you will sit in bright light and in close proximity to beautiful people." Perhaps the pimple will detract attention from the swollen mosquito bites I have been exhibiting on my face.

I have reached the outer limits of my computer skills, and unless I spend 9 weeks in a community college seminar, I may never get to free up more memory for iMovie, or resolve the mystery of not being able to access private images on Chicken Blog. Not sure which is more depressing: My dependancy on email, the internet, and iMovie/iDVD, or my ignorance of computer maintenance + lack of resolve to change.

My resolve to stay home has slipped, again. We're flying to Chicago and driving to Wisconsin. I want to BE there, but flying is not my sport. Really, really do not like to fly. Don't like to think about flying. Must think of something other than flying...

I can't dance.

There's a recurring smell at the front door. It's not a good smell. We don't know the cause.

On average, 9 out of 10 emails I receive are for antidepressants, sex enhancers, mortgages, and weight loss pills. Sometimes I want to proofread and correct them.

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