Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

I'm restless.

I want smut. I'd write it myself but I'm too restless to do even that, and I'm trying to work. Work hard. Work hard, little rabbit! That's what I am (so completely *not*) murmuring to myself as I sit here in my cubicle listening to my coworker sing "Jimmy Crack Corn."

How lame is it that my new DVD of a Stevie Ray Vaughn concert won't play as a CD on my laptop? Grrrrrrr. How lame is it that I have almost 100 CDs with me and don't want to listen to a single one of them? Or that I have 200 more at home and don't want to listen to any of *those* either? Bugger.

Or as Hugh Grant says: "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck *fuck*!"

La la la la la, I will now listen to this mysterious unmarked CD from my good friend Sandy and see what it sings to me.

ETA: Track 8 is Ryan Adams's "La Cienega." Everything brings me back to Angel. Including, by the way, all the taxis in Seattle--they all have Angel's smiling mug on top of them, advertising the new season. Heh.
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