January 6th, 2003


Good morning, Seattle.

And other parts of the world. Just so you know, I will be one of those LJers who discusses what they had for breakfast. Oatmeal! Again, oatmeal! By god, healthy, chewy, gummy, miraculous Oatmeal! I tried the milk, apple, and cinnamon thing and it was rather tastier. Resembled rice pudding, actually, but not so sweet. Can't get behind the idea of adding sugar yet, because it's supposed to be healthy, yo. But maybe a spoonful wouldn't hurt.

Wiseacress has a terrific little S/X essay up here, which made me happy:


And I so don't want to be at work today, but on Friday most of my outgoing e-mails said, "Will follow up with you on Monday." So I'm kind of locked into that. One of the first things I did today was call my bank and finally look into a personal loan to consolidate debt. I immediately discovered the reason why my procrastination makes no difference: they calculate average loan allotments based on the diamond-engagement-ring rule, i.e., a limit based on double your monthly salary. So instead of the $25,000 I need, I can get...$6,000. Strangely enough, that doesn't help me. Also? I could get more if my credit is good. Yeahhhhh. Well, the reason I want to consolidate debt is because paying my bills is currently a challenge. So again, that doesn't help me. Fucking financial fuckheads.

Despite this, I'm kind of middling cheery. Yay for neurochemical mood enhancers. Now I must go work, in order to keep earning a salary which will never eradicate my debt, but which will at least keep me swimming in oatmeal.
  • Current Music
    the babble of coworkers

Push the button, Frank.

And update the LiveJournal, you freakin rat-headed addict.

My manager treated us to lunch because we've hired a new editor onto our team, from outside the company--an external rather than the more typical internal hire. She is long, but thin. She is also blonde and unsmiling and fashionable, with the delicate bone structure of a baby bird. As the four of us talked over lunch, she acknowledged none of my witty comments, at least not with any betraying twitch of her face. Well, whatever. "I'm sure she's very nice." I will pet my snake tattoo to soothe its tetchy rattle. And I will take Friday off, yes, yes I will.

This is really just a disguised GIP.

Edited to add: The chocolates on the break table are staring at me, right through the wall of my cubicle, like several dozen unblinking eyes. Like the dark, warm, chocolatey eyes of Xander! Hmm. If I keep thinking of them as eyeballs, will it be easier to resist? We'll see.

Speaking of chocolate, I'd always wondered what happened to these, and so I googled just now as the thought struck me for the hundredth time. They were one of my favorites.
  • Current Music

Porn, fabulous porn.

I was reading some porn just now. Home decorator porn. Specifically, the fall Pottery Barn catalog. I can't get enough of it. I lap up all the pretty pictures, in training for the day--distant, dappled, and imaginary as a Tolkien Shire--when I'm able to afford an $849 armchair with P.B. Basic striped slipcovers. Plus the matching sofa and those cute frosted lamps and the jute rug, and of course the magnetic memo board (only $79), which is designed to bear a palimpsest of profound but fleeting messages in which we can read the ephemeral nature of our existence, fleeting bites of life also to be found in the pears, artistically tumbled, that fill the Parisian bell jar on our coffee table, watched over by the decorator cat.

I was born to be rich. This is a certainty I've never outgrown. Employers and stock markets don't yet seem to agree with my destiny, though.

You can *so* tell I'm at that honeymoon stage with LJ, where any excuse to post will do. Don't worry. It'll wear off.
  • Current Music
    white noise