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February 24, 1999.Dear you, I'm trapped in the library for the next hour for reasons you'll soon be acquainted with. So I'm writing myself (and you) a letter. Hey, if I make up another personality, I can be the self-generated Mononad Meets the Pink Anorak! Oh, the laughs as my amoeba-like personality splits and splits, causing thrills, chills, and the occasional kill. (I've really got to cut back on my Simpson's viewing. If you recognized the last part of the previous section, then you need to tone it down as well.)
I had a wonderful brainstorm this morning. The Boy has been asking me for creative naming input, for he's contemplating starting a record label. As I'm the one with net access (not to mention 90% of the communal brains...don't tell him I stole most of his, okay?), I've been scouting around to see what's available. Then I came up with the perfect domain name... www.butterfly.net. Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever heard? It's so cute that it transports me to little girl raptures. It's so cute that I should be wearing rave clothes when I think about it. It's so cute that it would gain automatic entrance in Ladies of the Heart (blech). And I knew in that moment that if I could have butterfly.net for my very own, I'd stop playing the webpage shell game for good...I'd move all my pages there and be done with it. But of course, I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and my brilliant idea has already been snapped up. It's a very unworthy site, don't you think? I could do so much better.
This afternoon I skipped a much-desired nap to clean the Grotto. Not that my house is particularly hovelish lately, but I'm having guests on Thursday and Friday...and not just the Boy, who I don't clean for. I swear to God, I'm not doing any dishes in the month of April...and I'm not cleaning the bathroom either. To be fair, Morgan cleaned the bathroom last time, but that still wasn't my roommate. I know, bitch bitch bitch. My guests, my responsibility, my job. I'm sure Javina will be happy with any bed unattended by felines, but embarrassment is just that, no matter how illogical. Just like the Greeks, I exist in a shame universe where cleaning is concerned, not caring about it for myself but dreading exposure as a sloven. I'm sure Socrates never debated the morality of reusing garbage bags, tho'. But all this aside, I know the effort is worth it. We'd all like to go to a place where our arrival is welcomed and prepared for in advance...and especially so with Javina, as she's been doing without personal space for months.
As to why I'm at the library, it's very simple. Tonight is Agamemnon's last night in town. We are to meet and celebrate his departure at a suitably late hour in a suitably dim establishment (side note: I have to see Alexi tonight. I really don't want to, after our recent online spat (although I'm told he's apologized for his behavior to Little Spider, so that's okay). But them's the breaks. I guess I can console myself with the thought that all my Angels (esp. Agamemnon) like the Boy better than Alexi...and I'm such a mean little piece of work for taking solace in this, don't you think?) Ahem. So anyway, were all getting together to kick it old school and drink 'til the late hours. However, I have a class tonight. I don't have the time to go home and then go to this establishment...or rather I do, but I don't see the point. It would be a time-killing measure more than anything else. So here I am, happily smacking the keys in an institutional setting. (Come to think of it, university libraries are a lot like lunatic asylums...people wander from place to place mumbling to themselves, their hair uncombed and their clothes rumbled. They speak phrases that are gibberish to most of the world. They're medicated with clearly harmful chemicals, numbing themselves with alcohol and jacking themselves up with coffee. And they spend years working towards the acquirement of a little piece of paper. I think the only difference between Robarts and the Clark is that there's a Pizza Hut in Robarts.) Have I ever mentioned that I was a Psych major in my first year? I think it's the world's loss that I didn't become certified, don't you? ("oh, amoret," you say, "your commitment to psychiatry can still be arranged...bwhmm ha ha ha ha...") And on that note I shall say farewell and hope that I forever remain your dearest amoret
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