august 10, 2000.

What: listening to Marilyn Manson, thinking about a slightly sore throat, drinking Diet Coke, scratching my forehead, wondering what to write.

Outfit: black-and-white striped knee-highs, white wedding high-heeled shoes, black fuck-me skirt, Bauhaus baby-t, Winnie the Pooh watch, white feather boa, severe brown glasses. When I got out of the pool this afternoon, I just let my hair dry in the shape it felt most comfortable. Picture it.

Reason: wanted to try out new stockings while breaking in wedding shoes. The effect was so cool that I just dressed to match. The boa was a birthday gift from my grandmother (i.e. the pain in my back that gave me my first pair of fishnets and used to dance outside the stripper tent when she was 17, and who now tries to sneak my uncle's ex-lover onto my wedding guest list. That grandmother.)

Happy: when my spirits lift, I often wonder why I don't do this all the time. Feeling good comes to me as deja vu. Right now, though, I'm worried if my slightly scratchy throat presages mono. Not good, not good at all.

Advice: Never worry about what you can't avoid.

Food: this afternoon, I tried to coax Mackenzie out of a temper by letting her play with my wedding band. It went okay until she tried to eat it. Fortunately, she didn't mind having it taken out of her toothless gums in a hurry.

Hugs: my flower girl insisted on hugging my head for a rather long time as we said goodbye. "I'll hug you forever," she said. My mother was practically in tears. She's a pumpkin, my little girl is.

Phones: why isn't anyone home? I've called Morgan, Little Spider, Scout, Jason (the blessed photographer), the Boy, Poet, Pixie Stix & Dav. I'd like to call Stacy, but she's in the land of No Phone right now. Bah.

Making: command decisions. Why is it that my mother & Marcie - two nurses - keep looking to me to decide between two almost identical choices? Stop waffling, damn it! It's just a wedding, not the Second Coming.

Good morning: "Hi." "Hi." "I love you." "I love you too. That dream about the Frenchman meant nothing." "Oh."

Socks: frilly. Always frilly.

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