the danish outpost
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chicken food for the soul


feeling kinda how a girl feels

called my boss this morning and left him a voice mail. 'hi, i'm staying home sick today. have a great weekend and see you on Monday!' in a bright, chipper voice, no less. d'you think that blew my cover?

because, of course, i wasn't really sick. i was tired. i was tired from staying out late on a school night. i was tired, because that's part of what comes with depression. i was tired, and i was in my comfy jammies, and the alarm clock did not sound inviting. there's nothing at work so critical that it can't wait until Monday. my couch and some mind numbing TV sounds like a better option. if i take today off and sleep, that still leaves me with a whole weekend to get things done. and my feet hurt.

whoo boy, do my feet hurt. what the hell was i thinking? wearing brand new shoes to a stand up event? breaking in shoes when i'll be walking around for at least 5 or 6 hours? trying to look all hip and cool, while learning how to walk in these damn boots? because while they are Aerosoles, and they are comfortable, 4 inch heels make comfortable a relative term.

i had no idea it was possible for the bones in your toes to ache so much. the bones, people. in my little toes. poor little toes, all smooshed up in unforgiving shoes all night. they needed a day to laze around in bed, lovingly cocooned in wool socks, just to recover.

i also had nowhere to be tonight, thankfully. originally, there was a show scheduled. Sinbad. yes, he of the earrings and parachute pants, that Sinbad. i wasn't exactly gunning to work it, but i figured it was a fair enough quid pro quo, in that i get to work a lot of shows i do like. and i would have dragged my tired ass and aching feet down there (complaining loudly, but i would have gone). it didn't have to come to that. he cancelled. why? good question. smart money says he just wasn't selling enough tickets. but of course, the bookers won't say.

the tired extended itself right through ordering out for dinner. there's a sink full of dishes which may stage a mutiny soon, and the larder, while not exactly empty, doesn't have much in the way of ready to eat. so, after checking the fundage, i ordered out. and since you get a discount if you order $20 or more worth of food, and who am i to ignore a deal, i ordered enough to feed a small nation. or, at least, me for the rest of the weekend. pupu platter, beef chow foon, and sautčed snow peas in rice wine. see? i did get at least one healthy thing. it's not all fried and salty.

somehow, my house ended up being Grand Central for a brief time, after being peaceful all day. i called out for food. then earl called, because i'd forgotten to return the camera last night. then the doorbell rang - the delivery person with a huge grocery bag, emanating delicious aromas.

the phone rings as i fish for money; it's earl, telling me he's almost there. the delivery guy starts to talk to me about the sign in Chinese characters over my upstairs neighbors' door. the phone rings again, as i close the door. it's a fundraiser; i inform them that no, in fact, it's not a good time, as i'm about to sit down to dinner; could they call back later?

then the doorbell rings - earl, confused as all get out, because he misheard what i'd said on the phone right before i hung up.

as we're standing there talking, the doorbell rings. it's a door to door marketer for some pizza chain. nope, thanks, i have my Chinese takeout, please go away. earl takes off, and i had to call him, because he'd picked up a few things for me (he'd been in a store when we first talked). so back he comes, and the doorbell rings again.

all this in the space of about 45 minutes.

he was kind enough to pick up a pack of smokes for me, because i asked. i didn't even want to walk down to the corner store. nope. thanks for feeding my indolence and addition. :)

a day in pajamas is sometimes good for the soul, i think. i slouched out on the couch, nibbling spare ribs and watching TV, batting the cats away from my dinner with one hand, not worrying about much of anything, just letting things go slow and being a couch potato. as it should be, once in a while. trying to live up to expectations (even just my own), trying to do everything by myself, living alone... it tires me out sometimes.

yesterday :: tomorrow

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i think i've been tricked
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the appeal of the broken boy

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