2001-07-25 - 11:35 p.m.
rules for a diary:
1. Don't use words like "quixotic".
2. Don't put up a little thingie about "send away for a tape of me singing with my guitar!!" partially because, who cares; partially because I did not think of it first.
I am cranky because I just slipped on the wet bathroom floor because the landlord was knocking and I was running to put on clothes because it's REALLY FUCKING HOT. No, not my clothesless bod. The temperature.
I am cranky because I blew almost all the tips I made today on connivingly expensive plum wine, when I'd only meant to get some sushi to celebrate the fact I no longer have to Job Ho.
I am cranky because, at the restaurant, I had to sit beside a girl loudly loudly gloating about attending a Madonna concert tonight, as if her comments had been designed expressly to arouse envy in me. I did not care whether she decided to wear her hot-pink shirt, or merely a sports bra.
I am cranky because of the image people seem to generally get of me at first, and that I'll be dealing with these same generalizations, probably, forever. A point comes when the nicknames "Pippi" and "Librarian" become malicious. Oh, and I suppose I also "don't look like a New Yorker", and I have no idea what that means. Sorry, this is mostly due to residue from having endured incessant elementary-school teasing. But blah blah.
And I'm cranky about the quality of life for low-wage workers, mainly the fact that these people have to put up with it just for being immigrants, having families, or not affording education.
Ha. When I was broke and unemployed I was way more cheerful. Now I'm just crabby. Eh, eat yer gaddamn sandwich.
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