I'm such a dork. Listening to PHC's joke show and laughing at the really bad jokes.

I am a worse dork. I am eagerly anticipating America's Funniest Sports Bloopers on ABC at 8.

raises hand

Spent an hour and a half at work watching Who's Line Is It Anyway? on You Tube.

I slept for 3 1/2 hours this afternoon, and then got up to finally do my laundry.

Laundry is underway, but will take for freaking ever because the coin slot on one of the machines is jammed...And I have 3 loads.

Somebody is living my life elsewhere! Except that my machine was the dryer. Since we were short two dryers (I hate using the other dryer because it never bloody dries!), I had to stretch out my drying over a few hours. I have the first load out, folded, and put away, and the other two are currently tumbling.

I was able to get my cat's liquid antibiotic into her this morning with a technique I hope continues to work for the next week (twice a day): I mixed it into the toothpaste that she never lets me use in its correct way and let her lick it off my finger. She gets her teeth cleaned on Monday, and I was worried over getting this stuff into her squirmy self.

Today I have managed to make lunch, do the dishes, take out the garbage, clean a little, set up the humidifier I got for Christmas, and order groceries.

Now I am trying to decide what to make for dinner with the chicken that's in the refrigerator.

I ventured into The Container Store and lived. I have made inroads (well, okay, they won't be made until I take the stuff out of the bags) into organising clothes and paper.

Now I have to decide what to do with my comics--I have a ton I know I will never reread taking up space. But I can't dump them! Also displayed are my CD cases. I should be getting a storage space that's padlocked but exposed to the street. I suppose I could put CD cases in there. I can't make peace with getting rid of those.

I have that strange testy feeling in my forearms (don't ask--I can't explain) that signals pointless melancholy for the evening. I hate that.

poo on melancholy. Poor you, ita.

But, container store! What fun!

I have three villanelles to write. The only thing worse than a sestina to write is a villanelle.

So I should go do that.

Laundry's done--yay! Now I just have to eat dinner and work out (since I skipped that this morning and last night, after eating some chocolate that was definitely not on my diet).

In cat news, check out the cat who barks like a dog.

I think I know what a sestina is, but I definitely don't know a villanelle. Cool name though. Off to wikipedia I go. I realise one of the reasons that I'd be fucked in a poetry-writing class is that I don't have anything to say that I think is worth putting in a poem. It seems to call for either exalted topic or just plain high quality. I mean, when I write.

Spending time on the phone with Colin kinda helped the melancholy. But that will probably wear off within the hour. I'm a stupid emotional limp dishrag these days.

It seems to call for either exalted topic or just plain high quality. I mean, when I write.

My sonnet was about snot. Villanelle 1 is about not talking. Villanelle 2 is about heartbeats. I don't have any ideas for Villanelle 3. Sestina 1 is about someone stealing an ipod. None of this is exalted.