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.

Oh, I don't judge people by the same stupid rules.

As some of you will know -- it's a bit chilly here today so even though I had grand plans of all the errands I was going to run. . . well, I did one: I was offered a lift to the grocery store and I took it. Then I decided to spend the rest of the day in the relative warmth of my home.

I re-watched While You were Sleeping and realized that the shape of Peter Gallagher's career to me is:
1st Sex, Lie and Videotape
2nd While You were Sleeping and
3rd The O.C.

I'm just running out of things to write about. Also, I need to memorize and recite a poem. I'm deciding between Lucille Clifton and Judy Grahn.

I'm so unable to memorize shit that I think I should really go with Dr. Suess.

the shape of Peter Gallagher's career

And really the middle step is unnecessary to me.

I missed the first part of Gallagher's career, but I'm oddly fond of that middle step. I have some of a girlcrush on whatsername.