thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bet you thought I couldn't squeeze an epic out of "nothing happened today." Master, my complexion is gradually readjusting and the nosebleeds are phasing out. I'm in a new pair of disposable contact lenses. Wednesday, PTC starts a new show, bereft of good cookies and charming upper-class undergrads, but I imagine the smell of coffee and greasepaint will remain, and some idiot architect's heinous implementation of western exposure will mean the same blindness for whoever's working the glass doors of the main entrance at sundown. It will probably be me. The cats have reaccepted me. For a while I met with the standard treatment they bequeath upon a human who has just returned from a week away: "Look what the Mustang dragged in." They snubbed me for a few days, but now they're back to taking turns waking me up. Mum and I are back to arguing about politics, as she drinks her fill of CNN and I watch grainy snippets of Newsworld here at the PC across the room. Hamilton's "oil" light is beginning to twinkle. Say what you want about the fact that I've not given him an oil change in ... o, the entire span of time he's been in my care. I think he's just happy to see me. I still wake up expecting the sound of things breaking in the next room over, or the glare of a TV left on all night in my face. When I try to sit up and lose balance, falling backward and smacking my crown against the headboard, I still look to my left expecting Heidi to be there, cracking up. She's not, of course. What's there is a wall, with an old cassette storage unit fixed to it. This unit still has pieces of gum stuck on the bottom of it from when I was twelve. I have made effort after effort to get rid of that storage unit, seeing as the gum is still disgusting in its fossilised state, and furthermore I buy CDs now just like everybody else, but I've no clue how the piece of crap is stuck to the wall. I can't find any bolts, nails, screws, or suction cups anywhere on the unit. This has given me reason to believe that the sucker is set in place with some kind of cement. Ergo, it stays. And when I greet each new day here at home in Salt Lake with a headbanger's ball, it stares back at me, smug. ~~ Now for the good news: Sis and I are trading rooms. She lives in a noiser part of the house, but I tolerate noise better. It has taken us this long -- until we're both within no more than a few years of moving out, anyway -- to figure out the simplest solution. We're midway through the exchange right now, meaning we're fine with just trading all the non-bed furniture and we've put clothes into one another's closets and dressers, but we haven't switched beds yet, so we're each sleeping in our respective old rooms, but going all the way to our respective new ones to change clothes. Never before did I truly appreciate the old room's proximity to the loo. ~~ Imelda from the summer marketing campaign phoned on Monday night. Neither of us has received our due comp tix for Sophisticated Ladies, as it turns out. We pacted to (a) go up to the theatre tomorrow (I'm picking up a paycheque anyway) to pester the admins about this oversight and (b) to get together with the other chick from our desk area and watch a bunch of bad comedies. How chance it I spent almost the whole summer sitting across a table from two other KITH fans? I mean, in a real city, it's not that improbable, but seriously, in this town, what are the odds? ~ETK 04:20 - 23 October, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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