Yay, I am leaving work in 5 minutes and my boss just headed out to the "East Office" (his house)... he's such a dork. Perhaps he will stay home all day tomorrow.
My stomach is feeling full, perhaps it is the enormous cheesesteak I had for lunch. There is probably something not quite salubrious about eating one really large meal at noon and hardly anything the rest of the day.
There was actually work to do at work this afternoon, although the morning was utterly pointless and I had to think up shit to do.
My dad called me about the interview on Friday. Am I excited? I'm kind of not, but I don't expect to be liked, so perhaps that is it. My self-worth is so unhealthy when I think of myself as a candidate for acceptance to graduate school... though I am absolutely dying to go. Nancy says I am trying not to be excited... yeah, I suppose. Don't wanna get my hopes up.
I need to paint my condo. I think I ought to start with my bathroom... something in a pastel yellow or green or blue. Something that looks healthful.
I am back on the fence about netflix. If I return a movie in the mail on Monday, when will I get the next one? It is now Wednesday. Will I get the new one on Thursday? Friday? If it's Saturday I am rethinking the whole thing, but even if it is as infrequent as 3 a week, that is still $20/12 or $1.67 per flick. That ain't bad. Plus, you can't get Gerry or Blowup or the unrated version of In the Cut at Blockbuster or Hollywood.
I hate imaginary love... or do I? I suppose I revel in it instead of really hating it. I develop these fantasies about people (i.e. boys) I barely know and then I allow my mind to just take them and run. It's amazing that I have any grip on reality whatsoever.
I am so excited for Wahima's auditions tomorrow. That will be so exciting, and then there will be dialect work and more fun times, and I will be a useful, productive human being again. Cloud 9 is far superior to how I remembered it. It is a scathing, beautiful critique of sexual mores in our society. I love it.