Friday, April 21, 2006

One shoe off and one shoe on, I sit here mid-intention to take myself for a walk, typing instead.

Today's been one of those days when, in spite of its Friday-ness and its end of the week-ness, and in spite of the good cheer experienced by others at these very facts, you look in the refrigerator of life and feel there's nothing to eat.

This isn't depression. This isn't boredom. It is ennui. Worst of all is that I can think of no one to share it with. Have you ever not wanted to be alone, yet not wanted to be among the people you know? That's where I am.

It is not being helped by the yelping I hear from next door that would indicate an (illegal for this complex) dog has taken residence. Probably a Yorkie or some other walking dustmop. Damn that Paris Hilton for making pets into a fashion accessory! Now every diva wanna-be in town has some tiny thing with huge wet eyes in a fake Coach bag and takes it everywhere dogs should not be, like anywhere food is sold, served and eaten. Gah.

Interestingly, I note with glee, this is the perfect time to write. Aha! Just a quick walk to get the blood flowing, no? Then I will come back to my little Dell of dreams and hammer out sentences that speak of my passionate indifference.


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