“Jodi would you like to have sex with Matt Dillon while Paul Westerberg sings in the living room and Mike Doughty does dishes?”
“Fuck you, I should be working on my book.”
So far, I’ve been able to keep the response internal. But if thoughts had volume I’d be shouting it at everyone who walks by and looks at me.
I spent all last night shopping online for birthday gifts. I have a slew of birthdays next week (FFJ on the 4th, my BF Kari on the 5th, Sister #4 on the 6th), and I am ill-prepared. So I used what precious little personal time I have to buy stuff for people I love. Trust me, it made sense last night.
This morning, I was having a tough time getting dressed. I stood in the laundry room (which acts as both dresser and hamper) trying to find the least stained article of clothing and nearly started crying.
“There’s just no time.” I made whining sounds while I flung myself into the chair and filled the Fortress of Solitude with the sounds of Paul Westerberg’s “Lush and Green.”
With my 35th birthday looming large and unstoppable, I’ve become acutely aware of time.
Of fuck it. I have no idea where I was going with this, but I will give you a summary:
1. Being really fucking busy is making me cranky
2. So is having my goddamn period
3. And so it turning 35
4. I don’t have enough time to write because I can’t say no to people and that’s my big problem
6. I have lots of things still to say about Hippiefest but right now I am entirely too busy listening to The New Pornographer’s Song “My Rights Versus Yours (new album out August and I cannot wait!), and the sound of Neko and Carl together is making me feel all melty inside