October 25, 1998
My Mongolian Weejend

pro*cras*ti*nate (verb) -nat*ed; -nat*ing

[Latin procrastinatus, past participle of procrastinare, from pro- forward + crastinus of tomorrow, from cras tomorrow]

verb transitive

First appeared 1588

: to put off intentionally and habitually

verb intransitive

: to put off intentionally the doing of something that should be done

synonym see SECRATERRI

OK. What the hell is wrong with me lately??
That "narcoleptic" feeling has been following me around all week, like a pesky little brother ... as evidenced, I 'spose, by the lack of journal entries on this website (not to mention the lack of clean towels in my closet: but that's another story for another day).

And it isn't just a physical tiredness, either: it's a vague, over-all malaise of spirit, like a Star Trek episode where a weird sentient fog settles over the crew and makes them spend the evening sitting in a broken brown armchair reading ten year old issues of Readers Digest, instead of doing IMPORTANT stuff like ridding the universe of those annoying extraneous Klingons ... 

... or posting a journal entry on the website ...

I'm OK on weekday mornings, usually. Having something necessary to do  --  in this case, getting up and going to my job at The Knife Factory  --  is motivation enough. (That, plus four cups of double-brewed Fast Lane Tea, followed by eleven-and-a-half seconds' worth of hot shower, followed by six minutes' worth of ICE COLD shower when the hot water stubbornly refuses to cooperate anymore, followed by ten minutes' worth of Matt-yes-I-know-he-just-got-married/he'll-come-to-his-senses-eventually-Lauer.) By the time I get to the bus stop I'm usually feeling just spiffy.

By noon, the coma has ensued.

By 5 p.m., when I'm standing outside Thriftway waiting to catch the bus home, I'm marvelling at the fact that I'm still standing upright, even though I have absolutely no feeling below the waist or above the neck or in any of my limbs or in my face or anywhere, basically, except for my HAIR, and for that tight little lump of ache in the small of my back ...

... and that's when I can feel that creepy lethargic fog, seeping into my bones, and I know that it's going to be another evening spent blearily downloading Windows 95 Desktop Themes, eating Ritz crackers right out of the box and falling asleep halfway through a "Friends" re-run ...

I leave for California in five days, incidentally. Five days.  Holy shit. This was the weekend I was going to clean up my apartment and wash my towels and spend some quality time with Miss Clairol and bribe *Someone* into taking me grocery shopping and post a big buttload of life-affirming award-winning humorous entries on the website and do some pre-packing and get disgustingly organized and PREPARED, for once in my life.

Instead I spent the weekend thusly:

Friday night:  Talked to my friend David in California on the phone for most of the evening, then fell asleep upside down on my little bachelorette bed. Sometime in the middle of the night I apparently walked in my sleep, wandered out to the kitchen and attempted to cook some chicken soup: I woke up the next morning and discovered the charred remains, still in the pan. (Do not, I repeat, do NOT tell the Oregon City Fire Department. I'm trying to give them a much-needed weekend off.)

Saturday:  Slept for most of the morning ... downloaded a dingbat font comprised entirely of little kitty faces ... took a nap ... downloaded a program called "Virtual Mood Ring" ... took another nap.

Saturday night:  Went out to dinner with *Someone* (yeah, we're trying the *friend* thing ONCE AGAIN: shut up). We went to Chang's Mongolian Grill, over in Gladstone ... one of those places where you load up your bowl with slices of meat and tons of vegetables and drizzle everything with oil and spices, and then stand there and watch while the cranky sweaty buff young Asian guys slap the whole mess onto the grill and toss it around with a shovel and then plop it onto a plate for you. (Now THAT'S entertainment.) While I was in the ladies room, *Someone* ordered us both a bottle of Saporro  --  our "usual," whenever we go to Chang's  -- except that now of course I'm attempting to *abstain* from alcohol, a fact that he either doesn't get or (more likely) doesn't believe. We were having an uncharacteristically pleasant evening, though, so I decided not to make a big deal of it, and I just poured the beer into a glass and dropped the little lemon wedge into it and pushed it over to his side of the table and he drank it and that was more or less that.

We opened our fortune cookies in the parking lot. *Someone's* fortune cookie read:

"You will do a favor for a friend, and will be blessed for it."

("Yippee!" I squealed. "Guess you're gonna take me grocery shopping tomorrow, huh?")

My fortune cookie said:

"You have an agile and perceptive mind that stands you in good stead."

("Uh huh," said *Someone.*)



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