12 March 2002

I have been so tired lately. I didn't get as much work done yesterday as I'd hoped to, and I don't even really care. You know that post-lunch nap stupor? I almost never go into that. I thought I was yesterday. I didn't get out of it until, I don't know, sometime after I went to bed. We had a good time with Evan anyway, but no major political or literary arguments. That may be a first.

Michelle and her corresponding Scott inform me that Yoda's line is, "Begun this Clone Wars has." I still think it's not a very good line.

I've been reading The Icon and the Axe, a big fat Russian history book borrowed from David. It's an interesting read, and I've gotten some story ideas from it already. My trivia tidbit for the day is that Catherine the Great had five feast days dedicated to her on the Russian Orthodox calendar: her birthday, her name day, her accession day, her coronation day, and the day she got her smallpox vaccination.

The un-smallpox day is November 21, in case any of you feel like marking the occasion.

And once again I love the Google image search function, because I was reading about a Russian Karelian church, and the black and white picture in the book wasn't doing it any justice, so I searched on it and found this. Which I thought was muchly cool. I hope you do, too. The profusion of onion domes amuses me. If one is good, right, Dad?

I've already made chili this morning for tonight's dinner. The plan is that I'll go hang out with David and then come home for awhile, eat chili, then get back on BART and head up to Berkeley for the writers' group meeting. But if I crash hard after lunch again today, I'm not sure I'm going to the writers' group meeting. (I should call it BARF. That's its name. I just wish it wasn't. "I'm going to BARF tonight" just doesn't sound like such a plan.) "And, um, I thought your story was...[thump] [snorrrrrrrrre]...." is not the impression I want to give either Ken or Avi.

My mom wants to know how come I'm so tired. Heck, I don't know. All I know is, it's hit the ball and drag Marissa again. I referred to that old joke last spring. But I'm not particularly inspired to do anything else today, so I'm going to tell it, having spoiled the punchline.

Bill had a tee time of noon one Saturday, and he didn't get home until 7:00. "What kept you?" demanded his wife, Kathy.
"Charlie had a heart attack on the third hole," said Bill.
"How horrible!" said Kathy. "I'm so sorry!"
"Yeah, tell me about it," said Bill. "After that it was nothing but hit the ball and drag Charlie, hit the ball and drag Charlie...."

It's one of those jokes that I only think of after I've used the punchline. Like the one about Superman. Terrible joke to tell, because I only think of it when the conversation has somehow been about superheroes. And then the joke isn't funny, because everyone can see it coming. The pig with the wooden leg joke is much better that way, because it's much more referred to (in my family at least) by description than by punchline.

Isn't punchline one word? It's certainly not a punch line, but that's what my word processor thinks it ought to be. Silly word processor.

Perhaps it's the Russian history. (That's tiring me out, I mean.) Perhaps if I was reading something where there weren't likely to be any self-castration sects popping up, I'd have more energy to face the day.

I'm really glad I don't check what people search on to get to my page. I don't want to know if people are wandering around searching for self-castration sect information on the web, or why, or in combination with what.

You know what I can't stand? Fingernail files. They give me the screaming willies. My mom informed me that when I was older, I would want to use them to make my nails nice. I'm not saying she's wrong, mind you. I'm just saying that this prediction has been taking its time in coming true.

Also I'm not so fond of anything edible and stringy. Also of any being who tries to share my living accommodations without permission.

But I do like Cadbury cream eggs, and we even have one just for me. Like the Barenaked Ladies, I also like soup, and ice cream sandwiches, too. And I'm okay with fishsticks. You I'm not so sure of. Depends on who you are, for sure.

This reminds me of the time a certain of my friends laid on that friend's back at a high school club meeting and proclaimed friendself to be "the fairy princess." I'm not specifying which friend, though, to the point of omitting gender, because friend's significant other might be reading this, and friend might not have told that SO this story.

Yet. I remain confident that SO is a smart person and can guess who he/she is. And I'll tell the story, if friend won't.

Jenn said that I look just like my pictures and talk just like my journal. So now you know what I would sound like if you came over and talked to me while I was tired.

The thing is, I'm a morning person. This is as good as it gets, people. Right now.

Perhaps I'd best try the shower. I think it's a bad sign that a line involving the words "Shower-wan Kenobi" popped into my head. A very, very not such a good sign. Yes. But we will see what Shower-wan can do.