So, Christmas was that bit which occured between the bank screwing us for sixty bucks, losing the car keys and the power blowing for a good two hours (while I was attempting to write this entry, mind you), and then Rabbit working.

God, After Christmas sales are the flaming pits. Anyway.

I have decided that next summer, I should like to be a Vagrant. I will wander from hostel to hostel with a backpack and a triple-a guide. I will discover good places to eat and maybe work occasional odd jobs and learn about trains and hitchiking and walking a lot.

And then I can write angsted travelnovel about it all on a roll of toilet paper, and be rejected by publisher and pedant alike with the resounding yawn: It's been done.

Well then. Maybe I'll just finish the six or seven novels-in-progress clogging up notebooks and hard-drives, hitherto.

For this steady southern drudgery, I care not. Consider something like this my New Years Resolution.

12.22.02 - 7:19 p.m.

Or shoe ornament, as it were. I've been neglecting this thing. We've seen the Two Towers twice. Gandalf goes plop! I like it.

Everything that seems to want to come out of my...er... fingers is long, progressive, streaming bitch. And I don't wanna. There are people poorer, colder, and hungrier, dammit.

Callie-the-tumor-cat and Diabetic Damien are staying with us for a week. Our four felines are just thrilled, I assure you. But I don't mind, cause Damien reminds me of Stephen, and Callie's the sweetest little scaredy, Owl-eyed calico in the Universe.

We almost got evicted last week. But that's over, I think. Just cause we had to use part of the rent to pay the water bill.

I have just finished 'Baudolino', by Umberto Eco, and it is just goddamn fabulous.

Why does it seem that the poorer you are, the more justified it feels to spend precious moolah on alchohol?

I want to kill my boss-lady, and free my boss-man from her evil tyranny. They kept getting in fights on the floor all day today. Thank god I have Christmas eve off.

Not that, due to some scary, mucky mombo jumbo which is the fault of Evil Moronic Credit Compainies from Hell (aren't they all?), utility bills, and other such flaming bullshit, there will be christmas trees this year. I'm thinking of making one out of construction paper, wire, and glitter. Or something. Not that there will be presents...

oh hell. Twelfth night will be better. I think I go... stuff chicken breasts now!

mmm. Breasts.

<<agé chose>>

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