...In which our heroine returns to form.

"Protection" by Massive Attack is one of my favorite songs and this is the first time I've listened to it in over a year. I'm typing this at an awkward angle, laying on my chest, feeling my delightful pangs of carpal tunnel. Watching Mad Men kill JFK tonight made me realize my uncle was born two days later in 1963 - why doesn't anyone ever mention this? Why is it so hard to delete people on Facebook...there's so many people I despise for their updates in my news feeds yet I can't commit. What a strange form of voyeurism. This little boys Cubs shirt is my best clothing purchase of the past month. Nothing I ate today was wholly satisfying. Perused eBay for cat eye glasses frames - don't wanna look like a grandma, but also don't want some bullshit modern retro-y frames. At work on Friday I read through tax returns for non-profits and found out that giving to health organizations and religious organizations seems to be mutually exclusive. I don't update this or write in my journal enough anymore, except for the good dreams. I've been lucid dreaming in the mornings lately, and it forces me to stay in bed another hour, in the hopes that some great fantasia will happen. This building is so old I can hear the floors creaking from downstairs. I almost felt bad for screaming at the television during the Blackhawks game tonight, but the country music usually drifting through the floorboards made me reconsider. "Rebellion (Lies)" is such a great song title, though the new Arcade Fire tracks are disappointing in the worst way. My job might change to be assistant to the work infatuation, which is now strictly an infatuation, no longer a crush. That plays into far too many issues than I need bring upon myself. A movie a day is keeping me mostly honest. I need to read more, tackle my huge pile of books. And better work clothes. Two songs away from 4,000 on iTunes. Why is the first picture of Chris Farley on Google of him dead? MORBID, even for me. I've been sleeping a lot lately, but eating better and walking all over tarnation. There's beer in the fridge and Blu-ray discs on their way from the UK. I won't be going back to Cincinnati until late July, and this should bother me more than it does. I never finished Mean Streets. He said he would call tonight, and he didn't, again. I turned on the MTV Movie Awards for about five minutes and it was fucking intolerable. The only movie I'm still excited for this summer is Inception. My Morning Jacket in August probably means to Pitchfork? I don't know.