August 21, 1999.

Other people tell me that they can't work at the computer without a furry bundle of cat coming up & demanding attention. And in my pet-free state, I could afford to feel superior. 'Damn,' I thought, 'I'd never take that from no uppity feline.'

Guess what I'm doing right now.

I believe I mentioned how far Ceilidh (the Boy's cat) has come in her attitude towards me. I used to leave her pretty much alone, because she's not terribly affectionate to strangers & has a tendency to lash out when she's tired of being adored. We more or less went our separate ways, although I'd talk to her once in awhile. Now I can't even sit down with reading material on my lap without being nagged for affection by an insistent cat. Right now she's draped bonelessly over the arm of the chair like a twitching grey muff, against my thigh but not near lap territory. I'm not sure if I like it. Although she is kinda cute.

Sporadic entries lately, as I'm sure you've noticed. I just can't work up the energy most days. Yes, I'm in a huge post-summer funk. I just can't get excited about entering the work force next week...especially when it means that my days as a sleep-in-late drinking-during-the-week inert English major are over. I miss classes already. And I'm not looking forward to wearing pantyhose on a daily basis, neither.

I guess my problem is that I'm just too spoiled. If I'd spent the summer living hand-to-mouth (kind of) like the Boy, I'd appreciate the prospect of employment much more. But right now, all I can picture is tedious data entry, paper cuts, flesh-coloured nylons, office humour and the joy of being the lowest on the corporate ladder.

But on the bright side, I bought a new comic today.

I wasn't going to, really. I was in Hairy Tarantula, digging the geek-mosphere, when a full colour work by Vasquez caught my eye. The new adventures of Devi, survivor of the guy who shit in his pants during a dinner date and a murder attempt by Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. What can I say, I'm an easy mark for depressing products of counterculture just now. But it did make me laugh. His unremitting hatred of goths while still marketing directly to them is refreshing in small doses.

"I HUNGER FOR ASSMEATS, BITCH!!"
"I'm surprised the psychic lady downstairs hasn't yelled at us yet."
(from below) "SHUT UP!! Shut up! Die in that plane crash already!"

- i feel sick, #1

The cat's fallen asleep with her butt on the mousepad and her head on the printer. I'll consider this a sign to log off the Good Ship Dreary Pop. And a pleasant tomorrow...