This is the problem with not blogging for a long time: there is too damn much going on to be organized into a coherent post. Writing feels like when I go to bed at 2 AM on a Tuesday without first taking a Tylenol PM; a million unconnected thoughts running through my head. Errands I need to run, people I need to see, tasks to check off my list at work, did I double-book happy hour with Old Urban Family and New Urban Family, how long has it been since I've called my mother, wait, how long has it been since she's called me?
And so I present to you the last week, sans-panda, insomnia-style:
"Buy Gruyere, cheap reds, rotissere chickens and panko for holiday party. Find out what the hell panko is. VACUUM. BLEACH BATHROOM. Starting to smell like cat has died in toilet. Come to think of it, where is cat? Find catsitter for Christmas. Buy Christmas presents for parents, Grandfather and His Wife. Write paper. First actually read articles required for paper. How many pages does 3,000 words equal? Reschedule date with Tattoo Trent-- no time for dating until paper is done. What the hell was I thinking going out with someone who has THAT tattoo THERE? Do I tell my mother I'm at least dating just to get her off my back over holiday dinner? Do I then lie about details of how MET Tattoo Trent? Must remind Jenny not to spill beans. JENNY VISITING. Pick her up at Metro at 7:30 AM. Damn Northwest blackout times. JOB INTERVIEW. Print out resumes, clip packet, job description, firm info, question list. Thank-you note to interviewer. Oh god, interviewer graduated same year as me. This is discouraging and depressing. Speaking of, gynecologist visit immediately following. What do I think of switching birth control? How do explain to boss that have yet another doctor appointment when have claimed had two already this week, when actually was viewing panda and interviewing? Oh god, eighty-three new emails in four hours. I hate the Patriot Act and everyone who has ever touched it, written about it or voiced an opinion about it regardless of what they said. Why is this week above others insane at work? WHY is god's name does this publication HAVE to go out RIGHT NOW as opposed to three hours from now? K BIRTHDAY. At least get her a card, you awful, awful friend. CHRISMUKKAH. Cannot afford actual gift of alcohol-- would be OK to bring leftover office party Robert Mondavi cab sav to a kegger? Lovely, you want to bring the new girlfriend to Chrismukkah? Whatever, I guess thanks for checking in with me first. Holiday open house. Brokeback Mountain already sold out for two days? Duh, it's only in Dupont. Fandango for Saturday. BLEACH BATHROOM. Paper-- would my prof buy the argument that MacDonald is the academic equivalent of the guy who really liked Bloc Party until everyone else started listening to them and now he's full of poser disdain? Wonder if there is an academic equivalent of MisShapes or Last Night's Party? Am pretty sure Alan Dershowitz would DJ at it. CRAP, must again cancel on HH with Rem and S. Third time someone has-- look for new date in 2006. Gahh, 2006-- what's going on New Years? Are we still doing dinner and champagne somewhere? CRAP, rescheduled date with Tattoo Trent on night of Kisha's show. Must either blow him off AGAIN or blow off Kisha like accidentally did in New York. Wait, did Jenny get back home OK?"
Christmas break may be coming up, but exactly how can I get a vacation from my thoughts?