Thursday, February 2, 2006

this isn't going to make a bit of sense. me, back in my swinger days. note the stork legs. I'm feeling delightfully incoherent tonight, so this entry will likely follow suit. I've come to realize that my non-work writing is remarkably unstructured; that's definitely something I'll be working on in coming months. After all -- structure is a good thing now and then, or at least some semblance thereof. But for tonight? Sorry. Tonight I just need to babble, clear out my brain, and thus creep ever closer to the admirable goal of... sleep. So -- without further ado... Cooking Lately, I've been crafting these intricate menu plans in my head at work. My dream dishes seem to be things that involve hours of chopping and careful seasoning and reductions and spice rubs and grilling and poaching and... a ton of other stuff that makes food taste delectable. Then, when the time comes to shop for the ingredients and actually whip something up? Eeek. Takeout sushi ends up looking damn good. I can't afford to live like that very long, but until I get my gumption up to be more Barefoot Contessa than bachelorette, I might keep putting off the chicken marsala in favour of miso soup and edamame. Or, you know... chips. Music What is wrong with me that I can listen to the same song nineteen times over and not notice? I'd set my iPod on repeat because I wanted to hear the beginning of the Ricky Gervais podcast again, and apparently, I left it like that. As I got to work on a draft at the office, I clickwheeled to 'Cannonball' by Damien Rice at the beginning of a preprogrammed playlist -- a playlist I'd designed for office productivity. Except my iPod just kept playing Damien over and over again. Over and over and over. And then a couple more times. It really honestly took me nearly twenty plays of the same tune to notice. That song got firmly stuck in my head. And it's kind of a depressing tune, so I took to playing cheesy pop music to counteract the malaise. Then At Last came up in the midst of S Club 7, and I was moony-eyed once more. 11:11 Someone told me once that if you notice the clock at 11:11 am or pm, it means that someone is thinking about you. And, oddly enough, I've received calls at 11:11 am and pm more than once. I really don't think it means anything, since I've also received calls at pretty much every other time of day, too. Or does it just mean that everyone is thinking about me all the time? Choir Dork I really miss performing in a choir sometimes. I loved the performances and the touring and the fantastic teal blouses we wore in the ninth grade. But, truth be told, the world just seems to make more sense when you've managed to master a complex harmony. Not to mention that harmony seems a nearly impossible goal almost anywhere else. I mean, except Survivor. It's Raining Still. This Year. I mean to start an herb garden that lives longer than a month. I mean to go on an actual vacation somewhere warm and dry and amazingly beachy. I mean to learn how to knit. I mean to write some actual poetry. I mean to twirl in the house by myself and sing at the top of my lungs at least once a week. I mean to play with starfish in a cove. (They don't really participate, but it's fun to stick them to my snorkel mask and scare people.) The Death of a Flip Flop My favourite Havaianas died today, while I was at work. You know... wearing them at work. It took fifteen staples and a roll of packing tape to get me home with any sort of pedi-covering intact. For once, I could understand people staring at my feet. Final Jumble... My last ten thoughts, in order. And then I shall sleep. Or try to. Oooh, my arms are itchy. Holy cow, is it ever coming down out there! I love my quilt. Do I look like a rhino when I yawn? Ohh... love this song! (Trouble -- Ray Lamontagne) I might actually sleep tonight! This feels like falling asleep! Wait, no, it might just be a sneeze. I need a kleenex. I should drink more green tea. Zzzzzz...... 11:59:09 PM    well, yes, but...  []

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