October 6, 2000
Just Checking


If you're eagerly checking *FootNotes* today, to see if SecraTerri and Ю僱êrvØ¡ are registering themselves for the Fingerhut Bridal-Stuff-and Crappy-Household-Appliance Registry (we could use a new steam iron, btw) ...

... we're not.

We're still "thinking it over."

David's official response, when he saw my tenderly stoopid marriage proposal, here on the website: "Wow! You're gonna get a ton of mail about THAT one." That was it. That's all he had to say. 

(I'm thinking: testicle clamps.)

Yesterday's journal silence wasn't a calculated attempt at narrative cliffhanging. I'm sick this week -- I hab a code id by doze -- and I don't much feel like writing. I spent the entire day at home yesterday, bundled up in blankets,  eating grapes out of a green plastic colander and watching stoopid court TV programs. (Tell me something, all you daytime TV people: is everybody who appears on these court TV shows incredibly sullen, obese, argumentative, and missing several important teeth? Or is that just the audience?) I still feel lousy today. In fact, as soon as I complete the minimum required amount of Executive Assitudity, here at the Totem Pole today, I'm heading right back to the apartment and back into bed.

If, on the other hand, you're checking *FootNotes* to see if I'm attending the incredibly groovy JournalCon Internet journalers conference in PA this weekend, along with all of the other incredibly groovy Internet journalers, sitting around the Westin William Penn talking about our incredibly groovy journals for three days ...

... I'm not.

ANY place but Pittsburgh, and I might have been there in a hot minute. Internet journaling is a subject that's very near and dear to my heart, obviously: it might be sorta fun, talking hit counters and notify lists with other people who hang their unmentionables out on the Internet clothesline. But the truth is that the very worst day of my life began with me waking up in PA (and ended twelve hours and a thousand miles later, with me flinging an empty wine bottle across a dining room). I'm not ready to *go there* again, just yet.

(Although I did enjoy the Andy Warhol museum ... )

And finally, if you're checking *FootNotes* today because you know this is the place to come for high-quality, award-winning, life-affirming journal entries filled with wit and wisdom and heartwarming stories all about second chances and karmic redemption and wiry black hairs sprouting spontaneously from the middle of my neck ...

... I'm definitely not doing that today.


In fact, I'm just going to take my cranky, crabby, uninspired, unengaged butt home to bed ... and stay there.

I'll be back after the Contac Severe Cold & Flu -- and my pillow -- have done their magic. Have a great weekend, everybody.

two years ago: she talks to bushes
one year ago: sleepwalking

throw a rock