Can time possibly creep by any more slowly than on a hot Saturday afternoon spent waiting for release from the farce that is now my home life? This is worse than the damn 14 hour plane rides to Japan. How do I while away the minutes as they tick by in excruciating torpor?
1. Polish off an intellectually undemanding and cynically humourous chick book, Do You Love Me or Am I Just Paranoid: The Serial Monogamist's Guide to Love, in a couple of hours. This little book, lent to me by a saintly someone who has endured more of my bitching and moaning than all the rest of you put together and multiplied to the power of 10, has succeeded in making me laugh at myself, become even more paranoid and has also induced a slight inferiority complex because if I wasn't so busy wallowing, I could be writing my own little tome to entertain multitudes with all of my wry comments and observations, if I had any.
2. Make several failed attempts at completing Bout 3 of Bouts Raimes. I like the triolet idea but the supplied rhymes just aren't doing much for me at the moment. Nor I for them. (addendum: I came up with something. Check the link if you're in the mood to suffer.)
3. Try on all the summer casual wear I bought in another session of retail therapy last night. I'm either gaining confidence in my now slimmed down figure or suffering intense delusions of and/or aspirations to slinkiness. It's all fine for wearing around the house, but if I plan on going out in public in any of it, this is going to necessitate another retail expedition in search of bras that work with halter tops and racerback tank tops. I feel more retail therapy coming on. That could kill a few hours and the mall is air conditioned. Could be a plan.
4. Check the clock every two minutes to see if more time has passed by, because every minute that goes by is one minute closer to me being where I want to be, which is not here.
5. Moisturize my cuticles.
6. Refuse to unpack my clothes from the suitcase and resolve to leave them there until I am moved into the new apartment
7. Blog, which I now proclaim to be an anacronym for "Bitch Lengthily, Obtusely and Gratuitously".