I sure am horrible at blogging lately -- my apologies.
It's Monday morning, 10am. I'm lying in bed, having recently woken up. Have to work at 1:30 and I'm NOT going in early. I'm supposed to work 50 hours/week since I'm on salary now, so I've been trying to get close to 10 hours in every day since I've been scheduling myself two days off...but this week I only get one.
Matt and I were both off yesterday, and it was great. We had breakfast at Waffle House, then he took me to Target so that I could buy some new clothes. Because I enjoy buying new clothes. I ended up also buying new sheets (they're green and floral and pretty!) and a shower curtain. Didn't need the sheets. Did need the shower curtain.
...Afterwards, he wanted to stay home and watch sports. I find sports (unless it's football or the Lady Vols playing basketball) rather boring and pointless, so I went to Cafe Coco to try to read one of the books I had just purchased at McKay's. (Got a Norton Critical Edition (NCE) of Faust for only $3 -- what a find! I also bought the NCE of the Sound and the Fury because I thought/think it'd be easier to read than the edition I already had of it. And I want to read that book at some point in my life because 1) I love Faulkner, 2) I love Southern lit, 3) the book's supposed to be great.)
Anyway. Didn't spend much time at the coffee shop because it was rather cold. I did run into Sarah Hailey, an old acquaintance from back when I went to RUF at Belmont. I run into her every few months and we sit down and catch up usually. Every time I see her, I think I need to hang out with her. I want to get to know her better. And I usually even say that. But it hasn't happened. We'll see. Maybe I'll try calling her sometime this week.
I need to get out of bed. Maybe take a shower and make something for breakfast....
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What's in My Journal (by William Stafford)
Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beautify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't f ind them. Somebody's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.
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