Just finished the Rodarte-ripoff shawl I've been toiling on for a week, and I have to say, I'm pleased as punch.
Went to a party last night where I was the only sober person. My friend Amy lent me a copy of Dancer in the Dark, which I began watching today out of desperation (I haven't been this bored in, oh, twenty minutes).
What is it about Sundays? I wake up, completely disoriented as to the day, my clothes or hair reeking of leftover Newport smoke, and somehow, the pallid light and weak, bleating air and generally pathetic aura immediately alert me: Sunday. Allow me to free associate: Roman-Catholic churches, homework, early bedtime, boredom.
Me and Mr. Facts are kaput, unfortunately; however, I can't say it wasn't a timely ending.