10.12.00 - 21:10:22

...continued.

Do I hear a squeal of joy from my fated audience, or was that merely a squeal - low, squeezed from the tighting airways like a stuck pig.

I'm not sure what the pig was stuck with, or why, but likely someone missed when trying to kill it off. Someone always misses. I think we spend most of our time missing. Right now, I'm just plain missing, missing my good mood, which I skewered by getting up at five a.m. I should have gone back to bed, but I decided to get up and watch the show for my TV course.

Then I stayed up, hurling myself into the crystal coolness of the morning like a bullet hot tearing through clear, chill, yielding skin - heated friction cooling, slowing with every passing moment.

Oddly enough, I was up (and actually about) from six a.m. on. I was still ten minutes late to work, and still didn't have time to make sure my shoes matched.

I'm hopeless.

I am utterly hopeless.

Therefore, I think I should become a nun. I don't have the patience like Crackbaby to sit through interminable bureaucratic waits. The worst attorneys are the ones mired in those details, who nevertheless still fail to remember any of the important stuff. The best? Somehow they transcend it, with a charm that never bleeds into the smarmy, a big wide good old handshaking with concern remember what college your second wife's niece has a scholarship to attend and inquires with such good natured twinkle you know know KNOW it ain't an act.

Christ. I am hopeless. I make sleepy-rumpled a religion. I have not yet managed to wear any of my newly purchased two week old make-up, because I usually get up about ten minutes before I hafta be someplace.

If that isn't the case, I procrastinate until I have created the same effect. Some folks, literally, tell me that a movie starts half an hour before it actually does, so I won't miss it.

If I were a nun, I could still be involved in and concerned about other people's lives, without having to worry about anything. I would make a cool nun, too. I would be a pot-smoking, margarita-drinking nun.

Maybe not pot-smoking.

This cold freakin' sucks. I just got over one. I am destined to be sick forever. And IF I am destined to be sick forever, why can't I have a coooool disease, where people will oooh and aaaah over my courage, but I'm still allowed to have sex and a decent long life once I mystically survive it, returning to the land of the living somehow purified by suffering, somehow refined?

Why don't I get mystical diseases? Why am I stuck with crap like lingering endless freakin' goddamned colds and mysterious psychosomatic bouts of leprosy?

Ooof. I might've continued that rant, but I got caught up in my Motion to Expunge. It's a masterpiece. Why, I almost accuse the opposing side of malpractice. S. tells me that that is the telltale sign of a law student's work, as opposed to an attorney's, because law students don't hafta work with the people they accuse of malpractice fifteen times a day. Plus, so many plaintiffs' firms come so close to malpractice to regularly...

...oy. I'm off to drink.

Memememe.