kaffeine

The jackhammering hasn't stopped. I have started to believe it will never stop. Eventually, it will become a way of life, like racing my roommates to the shower in the morning, or hiding food in my dresser drawers (from both cats and roommates). Perhaps I will adopt it as part of my reclaimed-industrial-pseudo-glamour apartment lifestyle.

And that's all about my living situation for today, since I'm certain you're sick to death of it. "Enough already!" you cry. "Give us more sex, drugs and death!" you rail, bashing your head against the keyboard, wishing I'd post a photo of my tits or something.

Ah, but I am a complex woman, you see; it ain't that easy. I am so terribly multi-faceted, thinking of sewing projects to work on between re-reading Frank Herbert's Dune and perusing GoFugYourself.

My excuse is simple: it's too hot to do much else. Sitting still and reading is about as good as it gets right now. If I find somewhere with air conditioning, I might eat something. (Though I feel I don't really need to until I start looking like Victoria Beckham.)

(God, she's gross.)

How to tie up this journal entry? Well, to incorporate the elements of reading Dune, the present heat, and my desire to fashion new clothes, I think I'll go make myself an Arrakis-inspired sari-type robe made of light fabric to sport on my way out in search of a/c and sustenance.

People crazier about Dune than myself: Shannon Laratt and friends suffer for the sake of looking like Muad'Dib. Not pretentious at all.