I was ten minutes late to work today because I couldn’t find my car key, after I made an extra copy yesterday night. Then, while I was looking for it, I knocked my new water bottle over and cracked it. Then, during lunch, after distinctly thinking, “I wonder if this yellow curry would look green on my blue sweater?”, I proceeded to flick an entire spoonful onto my chest (yes, it looked green). Then the day slowly devolved into probably the fifth most stressful day of my entire work-life. Then, in an effort to cheer me up, Curt and I attempted to go bowling. We went to three different bowling alleys: two were having their league night, and the third closed just as we walked up to it.

These things are not so very bad at all. However, let us suffice to say that my blood is currently at least 11.2 fluid ounces more inebriated than it was just a few minutes ago.

And so it goes.

Curt just read me the entire history of punk as it was set down by Wikipedia. This came in response to my telling him I could be punk if I wanted to (I can’t), and him demanding I prove it by naming the lead singer of the Sex Pistols, to which I responded by naming Sexy Sid and his girlfriend Nancy. Not only was he not the singer, but I only knew his name (I know it’s not Sexy Sid; I do not know if he was sexy) because of a dumb early-millennial alternative rap song called “Butterfly” by a one-hit wonder band called Crazy Town. Also, I sat in (read: attempted to nap during) a couple class meetings of the History of Rock during college.

Now that I’ve written an entire paragraph, I have no idea what I was actually going to write. And I’m tired. Sleep.

I watched The Big Lebowski for the first time: brilliant. Farcical, but also profound. I get it. I am officially a fan of the Coen brothers.

Curt is 35 today. :)

Two things that have recently come into my possession: a laminator and a pedometer. The laminator is far more useful than the pedometer. Pedometers, I think, are a bit of a stupidity.

I recently purchased the Greatest Hits of David Bowie. Apparently, he did a cover of “Dancing In The Street”. I really hate that song. I hate the original, I hate the Van Halen version, I hate Bowie’s version. It reminds me of the song “Downtown”, which I also hate. I do, however, really appreciate “China Girl”. ;)

Also, I recently (two minutes ago) learned the Joe Hill is the son of Stephen King! I read Joe Hill’s short story anthology entitled 20th Century Ghosts last year (or two years ago?) — quite enjoyable and imaginative. A couple of his stories were creepier than his father’s. Well done, young King!

Adios.

Curt’s in Vegas with a buddy, so I’m on my own for a few days. The apartment is nice and quiet. But all I can think is As soon I step out of this room, the monsters will eat me.

I enjoy screwing with myself, and so I chose this dark and stormy night to begin reading the Swedish horror book Let The Right One In.

Does the rain suddenly take on a sinister aspect, as if something were tap-tapping to gain entrance? Or perhaps it is the sound of some sinister little man, crawling outside my window, testing for weaknesses and slowly, slowly cutting through the glass to murder me while I sleep? Will Curt come home to find the sheets soaked in blood and my dismembered body parts sticking out of pots of various colors, shapes and sizes like grotesque human topiaries!?

;)

Been a bit stressed out lately. My grandpa is doing better, recuperating closer to home, which I’m glad about. Today Curt and I went out to the desert to take a look at the vernal pools. Very slippery!

I’m reading the first in the Revelation Space series. Usually not a great connoisseur of sci-fi, but I’m enjoying this one.

And that’s it from here. Low on words lately. Mostly just stressed — but all is well, really. Happy trails.