I refuse to dry dishes. My mother always gets rather irked when I don�t do them. Mostly, I don�t do them because I forgot about it approximately twenty seconds after I was assigned the task. But when you think about it, it�s a pointless job. I have discovered that if I do not stand there, wiping plates and knives and pots, not longer after I turn my back some magical elves will come and dry them for me.
What are these elves, you ask? I like to call them "air particles", my friends.
Anyways, I would tell you what I got up to yesterday, but I seem to be experiencing some sort of memory blank. A fugue, if you will. I suspect that I did not, in fact, leave the house.
No, that�s a dirty lie. I went out and bought Pirates of the Caribbean. Okay!? I can only hold out to temptation for so long, okay?! Was a time when I spent all my spare money on books. Lately - I have actually, temporarily, collected most of the books I desire - it�s all been going on dvds, or anim�, sometimes simultaneously.
Okay, so I know that I left the house at least once. I also only ate one meal. You know there are endless anthropologists and shit that have been laughed at for letting the sun tell them when to eat. I mean, what the fuck, man? Who decided that three square meals a day was the way to go? Not me, that�s for sure. Nutritional breakfast, my ass. I mean, if I get up at ten thirty, walk the dogs, shower, and then have tacos, is that my nutritional breakfast or what? That�s like your veg (salad), meat (chicken) and grains (taco) stuff all in one go. Plus condiments, baby. That�s gotta be a good way to break your night�s long fast.
Because the body is like a car - man, but even when we�re not moving, the engine is still running.
I got that off some claymation ad for kids telling them to eat healthy breakfasts. I thought it was a little funny that the ad was screening at 8:20pm. I mean, what kid of an age to dig claymation is actually up at that hour? Go to bed, chil�en.
I have decided that I like being able to eat whenever I want. No waiting for other people, or making other people wait for me, or any of that crap.
Ahem. So, here we are on the last day of the year. It�s a pretty nice day. I�m sitting here working on my monitor tan. It�s been a little tainted by the sun in the past few days - it�s surprising how quickly you can pick up colour in the New Zealand sun. It�s not surprising how often that colour is red.
I see a red door and I want to paint it black.
I don�t know where that came from: probably my righteous ire at the fact that I have to go work tonight. Okay, it�s not really �righteous ire� so much as �lazy disapproval�, but I�ll probably be spending the last few moments of 2004 working. I hope to god I�m not running tables at the New Years function because all you do is walk around and pick up glasses and bring people alcohol for like five hours. I�d rather be working the buffet, which includes large amounts of time standing around, doing nothing and getting paid for it.
Work on New Years Eve. I mean, doesn�t that suck? I�m not even getting time and a half. Unless I work past midnight, which I hope to god I don�t, because I have to be back at work bright and early tomorrow for the lunch shift.
Well, 11am is bright and early when you�re used to going to sleeping until ten thirty. Shut up, that's why.
On another, entirely unrelated note, I�m surprised at how cool I�ve been sitting around at home. I keep waiting for the paranoia bomb to drop, much akin to America dropping its sledgehammer of justice onto the sandcastles of the poor, but so far... Nothing. Don�t worry, my family don�t come back for another five days; there�s still plenty of time for me to freak out.
Happy New Year.
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