November 25, 1999.

Another day swirling into the void like so much fine-grained sand. Pish. I'm starting to sound like Nigel.

Came home to a surprisingly unfilthy house tonight. The surprise issues from the fact that my parents are out of the country & my brother has been on his own since Wednesday afternoon. Still, I don't suppose that's long enough to get a house truly revolting.

Then again, my brother is the one who left a pile of spilt sunflower shells in the living room for a week - refusing to clean it until the afternoon before my parents' return. So a lot is possible if he really works at it.

In any case, the house may have been relatively neat, but there was still mouse shit in the kitchen cupboards (a.k.a. President's Choice Memories of Little Portugal). Not feeling up to the sweep up, I decided to leave it until tomorrow afternoon...then I noticed that not only was the mouse trap near the stove out of place, it also held a rather large grey mouse by the neck (deceased). Suddenly, I was motivated to clean up.

Still nothing to do in the way of honest work. Besides this weekend gig that is, and lemme tell ya I'm getting almighty sick & tired of scheduling every single weekend around two 4-6 hour shifts. It's hard enough to see the Boy & the other City people when I don't have every bloody weekend booked for an inconveniently small time. Irritating.

"If I didn't have my spoon collection, I think I'd go mad."
- adam clayton, the simpsons

(ed. note - i actually had to do research to get his last name...i knew it wasn't adam smith - too busy writing the wealth of nations to play bass - but no reasonable substitues came to mind.)