quittin' time

no. not quitting my job. but friday's around this joint are like a ghost town and it ain't even yet one pm.

in other news: i've had insomnia these last few nights. the circles under the eyes seem dark. and i got a pain in my lower right back. and just when i think i can't keep my eyes open, some new thread enters my head and i grind about it. which means i flip it over back and forth upwards and downwards in my head and that makes me awake-er. recent threads: w2 forms; upcoming doc appointment; nerves about interviewing a beloved writer; local crime rates; why has my landlord not yet given me a new set of keys so i can give to a cleaning person and avoid the chores i most abhor?

did i ever mention i'm going to mardi gras? i is. with some friends from college. we're convening there. we're supposed to each make costumes in accordance with the 7 deadly sins. i chose sloth because: a) i won't have time to make a costume; b) i'm not so good at costume making so why put in early time on the project (though there was the year at halloween when i was grunge barbie—back when grunge was all the rage and it was, if you'll permit me, a killer outfit); c) my friend who is in n.o. said the person who got sloth could simply tape a cushion to their ass and carry a to-go cup with a big straw. that seems just about right.

should be big fun. and this wkend a friend from atlanta who looovees karaoke is coming for a visit. she may love it even more than i (though she's more of a sucker for the power ballad whereas i'm all about patsy covers). there may be karaoke in my near future. glory be! want to come? give a jingle and i'll tell where and when.

my great aunt's doctor (himself a fairly elderly gentleman) met me one day when i was at my great-aunt's house helping her. later, when i was not there, he asked her about my 'status' and she said, she's single. so he took my number and gave it to some other doctor (my own age) to call me. and he did call me. and left a msg. and then, before i had a chance to call back, my great-aunt asked me about it. and then she gave me counsel because she loves me and i love her—to speak clearly and slowly on the phone ('because you know, slush, sometimes you talk very fast); to be nice and friendly ('not that you're not, but your sense of humor...'); to avoid wearing jeans when i meet him ('not that your behind isn't the cutest thing in town in those foxy jeans, but trousers or a skirt even would make a better impression').

then i called and left a message. and i tried to speak slowly. and then when i got off the telephone i worried that i spoke so slowly that i sounded: slow; bored; unenthusiastic; encumbered. i guess i could have told a joke on the phone and said, you'll only get the punchline when you call back. would that have been better?

meantime, had a date the other night too with a guy who works for a magazine. we had a very nice time (or, i did). he had amazing eyebrows—at once lush but pristine. we talked a lot. he was smart. likeminded. hopefully we'll see each other again. i took familial advice: i wore trousers. orange ones. lowcut shirt. what really counts.