Well crap. I waited to do this and now am in little mood do it thoughtfully. There is thunder a rumbling and the things (not work related) I was supposed to get done at work are undone still. Wait.... There was one thing I could go do quickly. I'll have to finish that little part of that last thing later. I am pretty sure this first paragraph couldn't get any vaguer unless I took that back and inserted gobbledy goop <= there. There.
Week 6 of "intentional" homelessness is going the swimmingestly of all now that we have begun to stay in a luxury locale while my friend is out of the country. Another lady will be staying there as well, and since she is moving to Austin from out of the country. I will be her first intimate contact with Amurca, unless she's been here before, and I don't know the answer to that non-question, so pretend. I will be speaking Spanglish with her children as I do not speak Hebrew and, well, you can imagine how much something this is going to be. It's rather like being on a vacation, aside from this here work thing I am still doing on the weekends, which, incidentally, has me stewing. Not because I don't appreciate or want my weekend job (spies), but because I don't want to have to work it (in addition to the full time school-year position). I really could bitch, but then you might peg me as a bitch, and fearing you are correct, let's just cut to the chase where I admit I am pretty much a bitch. Yep. A bitch who shall be getting her own place by August 1 and appreciating a 2 bedroom place with an adapted third bedroom dining room quite a bit. We're moving on up, however, since I am committed to the 2nd bathroom option this time.
Three things: Portlandia (on Netflix), Garfunkle and Oates, and there is a list I submitted to McSweeney's today that I would share were it not that they might not publish it then. In other words, when they send me the formal rejection, I'll post it. We've played that game a number of times, McSweeney and me. He's a prompt rejecter; I like that about him. What he doesn't know is that I am collecting his rejections. Maybe I could make a list out of them. Shazam, but damn. Some of my previous rejections were in my olde school email account that has since been deleted. I'm sure you care about that.
There have been times I've lusted for the most recent former Mr. Bee's newishly sober ass of late, like when we're famming it up in a tent, sweating it out on a hiking trail, or lounging around the cheap beach as we have done in recent weeks. No need to make me feel ashamed for that or to tell me to go back and read into the misery this blog details at length. I've got it covered, though surely the saga will continue. I'm not too keen on new people anymore, it seems. I consider this maturity, but what I should be considering is a certain single for 40 years aunt of mine (the one I look like). I wonder how valuable emotional safety is, and where the intersection of it and companionship merge. Seeing as I've been tutoring macroeconomics this summer, I'll be sure to make a little graph for that. Seriously, I will.
It's time to stop making donuts and go invent some wheels. Before you know it, I'll be doing more than grunting and continue on witht he other writing I deem more valid. But you, you're the one I really love, diary.