One day at work this week, I wrote myself a list of mundane things to do this weekend, so I wouldn't just sit around drinking. I actually looked at it on getting up (noon), and thought about what to do with myself. I did go to the gym, dye my hair and shower, make cookies, and clean out the mini-fridge in the barn in preparation for band practice. I was then reminded that the barn itself is colder than a refrigerator can be, and that it's wasteful to run a device when it's not necessary. I hate winter; I wish it were always between forty-five and seventy degrees. That would count as seasons, right? I felt resentful of the advice, so I filled the sparkling-clean fridge with beers and ginger ale and left it unplugged. Okay, okay, fine. I concede, electricity judges. I wish Rock of Love Bus were on now. That always makes me feel better.

Today I didn't do anything of value but I thought about Laura Kightlinger a lot. What she's doing, whether I should write her a fan letter, where I would send it if I did. Later I went to Walgreen's and spent 95 dollars, mostly on hair products. Now I'm drinking Johnny Walker out of a Bailey's cocktail glass I was once given when it came free with a bottle of Bailey's. I don't like Bailey's very much, given its mild alcoholic value, and I don't like the glass much either, but it was clean.

fairly unappealing people

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Originally uploaded by Lotte Left

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Originally uploaded by Lotte Left

Well, well

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Originally uploaded by Lotte Left

Singlet-wearer

Hello hello, greetings, welcome to the room. I'm staying in an apartment with no television, and a large and orderly stack of DVDs nesting in the piece of furniture where the television ought to be. What to watch, what to watch. It's funny, how one brings books along with full intentions of reading them, and even without a television, one ends up watching TV.

Funny, life. Clearly, I have very little to say. Hello, oft-neglected blog. Hope you're enjoying all the neglect. Ciao.

I set up this blogger account last summer ('05) so I could make stupid comments to posts in PoetrySnark (it was really a damn funny blog at times, but it's fizzled in recent months). I'm certain there must be other poetry blogs in the world, but I'm at a loss as to how to make myself care about finding them. Mostly, I'm trying not to get kicked out of college in my final year. It's proving more difficult than imagined.

In other news, I went to a dinner the other night with some poetry people and a few older poets - you know, the ones you see in the New Yorker a lot, but who aren't women or Carl Phillips or Seamus Heaney. Those guys (and their women). It was neat. Mostly I was there for the wine, and so I could say that I had sat at a table with a guy who used to give Anne Sexton cigarettes when she ran out. A good time was had by ... me. Except for the part when I didn't get my seminar reading done.

Well, at least I got compliments on my shoes. And that's what counts in life. Hell, time for bed.