But I am too lazy to get up and walk the few feet over to the mirror and see if that big orange bastard truly scored me with his claws or if he just punctured me a little. Overaffectionate felines have uncomfortable methods of settling. When they are shited, they tend to lash out to the nearest comfy clawhold. In this case, that would be my cheek and lower lip.

The mirror, in this room, is a medum sized unframed recutangular piece of glass sitting on the floor. It leans against the wall under a hanging LP of the Beatles Yellow Submarine, a gift from Babbit; a Beatles poster advertising the concert in Shea Stadium, and an autographed picture of William Paul Michaels as Chauvelin from when Fox, Javy and I went to see Pimpy September before last.

My room had been clean, now it is filled with boxes of books. This is evidence of our recent attempt to 'simplify'. We've a darling relationship with half.com, that has required us to make sallies to the post-awful every other day or so. Ah well. It maketh money.

Speaking of which, my darling Daddy has graciously consented to spot me the $100 I am short on the rent. Hallelujah. I had the unexpected expense of having scores sent to UNC, after all. And having to come up with some way to feed Roomates, Self, and Cats. Ah, necessity.

Speaking of which, I have an interview of sorts tomorrow at 1:00. The place is a quaint, nice smelling store in Brightleaf Square called Morgan Imports. It is less soulless than Peir One-- something like Cost Plus, for anyone from California's edification.

Fuck. I am bleeding. One puncture wound above the right side of the chin. Sonafabitch.

Oh well.

You know, I suppose I am a grisette, of sorts. I'm playing with the notion of becoming a shopgirl again, anyway, which is a far plesanter term, I think, than 'sales associate' or worse, 'sales manager', which I fear may be my emminent fate.

I'm not too upset though. If I get into school-- ah, the great hoary 'if', it will no longer matter. I will bury myself in linguistics and pray for guidence in Japanese and French and Italian and Hebrew.

Rob Brenzy says that it is up to us Virgos to make everything sacred, even investment banking. Well, yesterday I did most piously apply for jobs, musing in deep tones to the Gods I know about the nature of Things. Real and intangible.

I cannot do without philosophy. I am too deeply immersed in a non-coporeal world to concentrate only on what I can see.

And I still keep dinner on the gosh-darned table, thanks.

boogah.

<<agé chose>>

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