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1�0�101010�0�1 2003-05-07, 1:44 p.m.

darkness has a hunger that's insatiable


It seems that it's been 8 days since my last update. I haven't felt much like writing. I've been depressed and stressed out the past week, and every time I start an entry form on the diary, I get halfway through the entry and decide I'm not really saying what I want to say, so I quit writing.

There isn't really anything new. In the past week I:

  • Had several blowout fights with the man who will be my husband in 7 weeks.

  • Drove aforementioned husband-to-be around furiously trying to save his job in what I'm calling Canadagate (whereby A. doesn't realize he needs a birth certificate or passport to get to Vancouver for business, his boss tells him to blow off the trip, his boss's boss loses her shit, and A. almost gets fired).

  • Consoled two friends who lost beloved pets.

  • Felt all beaten up by the dismal rainy weather.

  • Spent way too much money on A.'s birthday, wedding crap, and nifty IKEA furniture.

  • Thought a lot about what I want to do with my career. Decided once and for all to apply to grad school because life's too freakin' short.

  • Briefly considered going on the Atkins Diet, then wisely reconsidered. Carbs are life. Yeah.

  • Drank a lot.

  • Tried to sleep a lot, then didn't.

  • Bailed on my therapist appointment on Thursday, then realized I really should have gone.

  • Made two dozen conflicting decisions about what to do with my hair, which is a little too bronzey for my taste (finally decided to go have it toned this evening).

  • Started reading a book that I'm finding more and more interesting.

  • Didn't write, but got a lot of good ideas.

I need to stop with the lethargic, obsessively worrying, self-pitying mood, but I'm not sure how. Think I'll go to the gym tonight; that should definitely help.

We go to the bible. We go through the workout. We read up on revival. We stand up for the lookout.

I'm not actually sure what all that means, but it's the Indigo Girls poking fun at exercise therapy, my proven source of happiness, so I'm throwing it in for good cynical measure. Also because KFOG has been playing that song a lot lately, and it always makes me think of Take Back the Night back at school.

Hey, mister, keep your hands off my sister.

Okey-dokey.

So I'm headed home for my wedding shower this weekend. We are sleeping on my mother's brand-spanking-new sofabed, which she bought because we were coming home for the weekend. Because after all these years, it still matters very much to my mother where we sleep.

If I sleep at Dad's, it's a slap in the face.

If I sleep in a hotel, it's offensive.

Never mind that she goes to sleep at 9:00 and that my stepfather stays up watching cable sports until midnight and doesn't talk to us. Or that when they are awake, everybody sits around watching TV Land and not talking to each other, and that when we do talk, my stepfather shushes us in case he misses the climax of the episode of Car 54 Where Are You?" that he's watching.

It's my mother's version of good quality time.

I'm taking her out for Mother's Day dinner to my hometown's first Italian restaurant. That should be very interesting.





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