it's a Drood-- 784 pages and 2.6 lbs

Starting dad's new book tomorrow... it's always exciting to see the new ones all shiny and new on amazon... http://www.amazon.com/Drood-Novel-Dan-Simmons/dp/0316007021

who are these readers who already have 5-star reviews posted on amazon?! I share genetic material with the man, and I haven't even gotten past the dust jacket. It JUST came off the presses! Sheesh.

it's friday night... the neighborhood's totally quiet, just a few lights on in the neighboring buildings.

up way too late every night last week... I'd lie awake until 2:30 or so, waking up at a different time every morning, but weirdly enough, every single time I arrived at work and tossed my keys onto my desk, the clock read exactly 9:23.
groundhog day.
it was almost eerie.
I'm ok with the sleep thing... this time it's just because the sharp, twisting pains have returned this week, and honestly, I just don't care. I feel weirdly chipper about it. I will get rid of whatever's causing this if I have to pull a Forrest Gump and run across America to prove a point to somebody. In the meantime, I'm building up a relatively fierce tolerance to the feeling of having a tiny green army man stab me repeatedly in the side with a bayonet.

I was the last to leave work the last few nights. I left around 5:30 or so tonight, lowering the blinds downstairs and tugging the door shut behind me. I've never been the last one out of the building where it doesn't seem like a melancholy scene from a movie. Played phone tag with three friends, went home, flopped on the bed and talked to another friend for a long time... realized that everyone was scattered far and wide tonight and admitted social defeat. Exhausted, anyway, and not in the mood to go see 'Man on a Wire' by myself in Denver even though I've been talking myself into it since 9:23, when my keys hit the desk, and my Outlook informed me that I had almost 9 hours of "cervical ripening agencies" script proofreading to do today. (jesus h. christ... those 9am scotches don't look so bad in Mad Men any more. I was pale and nauseous before noon... I'm still too sensitive for some of this stuff)

Pulled on my low-tops and headed out to the only restaurant in town because I had a hankering for green chili and my apartment was too quiet (and all my burners have gone out...again...)
my plan was to just get takeout and cozy up with a movie at home, but the restaurant was packed to the gills. So weird-- I guess I've never been in there on a Friday night, just sleepy taco tuesdays with the guys. Lots of 20 & 30 somethings at the bar, packed around tables... the music was up loud, trays of beers were whizzing by, laughter permeated the air. I was totally caught off guard, with a messy bun and pinched indentations on my nose from wearing glasses for the last 10 hrs, standing in a sea of happy weekenders in my blue Harriet the Spy coat, turning pink from feeling shy and sleepy and a little in the way.

They overcharged for my lowly green-chili burrito, and once I got it home, I discovered it was totally cold, like it had been in a refrigerator in the restaurant. It was pretty funny and pathetic. Broadcast News came on, one of my top 10 favorite movies of all time, but it hit a little too close to home and I started to feel a little suffocated in my quiet little apartment, eating a cold burrito, still wearing my harriet the spy coat until the heat kicked in. Decided to clean my apartment but sleepiness took over and I watched the end of 'The Lake House', mostly because the Keanu / Sandra pairing reminded me of Speed and 6th grade and Coryn, who I miss to pieces, and because it was set in Chicago and there was a deliciously cheesy art theme that used gratuitous cross dissolves between architecture shots that looked like the photos I took there in October.

I feel like I should be cleaning, or starting laundry, or googling ideas for the book that I want to make for my friends, or hanging up my harriet the spy coat, or starting a portfolio for copywriting to take down the street to Crispin + Porter. But the quiet, dark Friday part of me lured me over to check my email and now I have no inclinations but to get in bed and start "Drood" until I fall asleep (which, at this rate, will be in 8 minutes).

oh... shit.
shit. shit!!!!!
I've been tasked with 'finding a celebrity' who wants to to an "advocacy" project we're working on... a celebrity who wants to talk about the evils of hospitals and epidurals. Oh, and by the way, they need to work for free, and could they fly to Denver?
Despite my own feelings on the project, I've been thinking hard about who might 'be up for the challenge,' and I was excited to find Laila Ali during my research... Mohamed Ali's daughter, a boxer, healthfood spokeswoman, brand new mom & advocate of 'take charge' attitudes toward birth.
I thought I was a genius.
According to my television just now, so did some shea butter lotion, who hired her as their anti-stretch-mark model.

ahhh... I'm not going to wallow, but I'm giving myself just long enough to finish this post to feel a little bit lonely and out of sorts tonight.
It's going to be a good weekend, and I think this is partially from just needing to let go after a sleepy week, and the stress of taking a pay cut at work-- feeling the immediate ramifications of not having the deposit you were looking forward to on the 15th. I'm having a rare but intense feeling tonight of wishing that someone was here to curl up with... someone to laugh with me about how pathetic the burrito was as we dumped it down the disposal, before pulling on a sweatshirt and curling up on the couch together to watch a movie and just unwind.
It's funny to have a strong part of me that likes being alone, and an equally strong part of me that's affectionate and craves closeness. I'm a shy, pink-cheeked girl who still misses the comedy stage and the room full of people. Maybe my brain was wired for comically opposing needs.

Whatever the case. I'm grateful for my quirky little apartment and my job... my penchant for shitty tv when I'm worn out, and for being able to still afford a grossly overpriced cold burrito. It just would've been nice tonight to have someone here to watch part of Spinal Tap with before we got bored and decided to take a walk, since it's warm and clear out, and Orion is probably really bright. I'd take my unplayed guitar out and learn a new chord. The candles would seem cozy instead of a fire hazard, and the apartment would feel calm instead of quiet.

Good thing I have Drood.
No one can be lonely on a Friday night with a book the size of the Mojave Desert wearing a crater into their chest.

an email I wrote to my co-worker's son... she brought in an old tie of his last week since I'm going through my 2009 Tie Phase, so I thought I'd entertain her by writing to him (to make sure he no longer needed the tie that had been in her care for 8 years...)

Dear Trent:

Hello! This is Jane… I work at InJoy with your mom, who I adore. (Not just because she keeps the chocolate bowl stocked, but because she lets me call her DebbyBell—all one word—and doesn’t complain, even when I’m being obnoxious) Also, your mom is an endless source of entertainment and fantastically brilliant ideas.

But… I digress. I’m writing to ask you a question-slash-favor.
Recently, I decided to embrace the tie as a fashion staple for 2009. This was sort of 1/3^rd the result of having too much time on my hands, 2/3rds having just recently watched Annie Hall for the 5^th time.

The day after I announced my new fashion plans, miraculously, your mom came to work with a fabulous gray tie (with pink paisley creatures on it) that belonged to you (I’m assuming, or else this is going to be the most boring email of your life). But it’s only prudent that we ask where you stand on the ownership of this tie. Perhaps you miss it—perhaps it brings you comfort just knowing that it’s home in your closet. I don’t have a photo to include, but I do have a photo of the other tie that I acquired this week (a photo that was shamefully taken in the InJoy women’s restroom, emailed to my best friend, and marked on my timesheet as ‘general/other’).

[ ]

As you can see, my red tie is only going to carry me so far through life, but this should come as no burden to you. You’re more than welcome to reclaim ownership of your gray & pink paisley tie, whose tip has been dipped ever so lightly into some faint pink substance that we can only determine as paint. If you would like to renounce ownership, I can only assure you that I would lovingly adopt it, and I have a reasonably stable financial situation which will allow me to care for this tie in the manner in which he has become accustomed.

I think at this point, we’re all exhausted and confused, so I’ll end this email here.
Happy weekend, and thanks for sharing your awesome mom with us!