I'm just getting old, is all

01-17-00

John and I finally drove up today to see Magnolia. See, in Georgia, "wide release" really means "Atlanta." The closest we could see it was Mt. Zion, which is a good 60+ minutes up I-75. It caused no small fight beforehand—all I wanted to do when I got home from work was collapse, eat some chocolate chips, and massage the feeling back into my toes, but John recalled some foggy moment of the weekend when I said we should drive up on Monday. Since I have Tuesday off, and all.

Maybe I was unreasonable. But I just hate doing things on Monday. Monday is the greatest day of my week—I get off work at 1, come home, shower, relax, all the time knowing that I have all day Tuesday to think about anything but dogs. By the time Tuesday comes around, it's too close to Wednesday. I'm one of those tense types who spends their entire vacation dreading the first day back.

Anyway, we fought to the point that one of us was going to feel like shit for most of the day, and we both pretty much lost, because we ended up going, so I was pissed, but John had to feel guilty. We cheered up a little when I morosely pointed out the way the giant round peach tower in front of the Byron factory outlets resembles a woman's sex organs, with a suspiciously symmetrical green leaf ().

The movie was good. We'd heard mixed reviews, with most of the negative ones coming from people who feel movies should be entertainment, not art. Magnolia is a very intellectual film, featuring lots and lots of character development, just like every other Paul Thomas Anderson project, i.e. Boogie Nights. Also included were heavy biblical references and tremendous thematic development, and the requisite shots of Julianne Moore OD'ing on various illegal substances. Not a good movie for the Robin Williams tearjerker or Will Smith blower-upper fans. What I said when we walked out: "Man, that would make an incredible book."

It's nearing 2 am and I'm strangely very awake. I had a weird eating schedule today, though; I drank shit coffee this morning, but didn't eat until about 5:30 pm, and then I drank Starbucks and ate chocolate around 7 pm. I think I fucked up. I'll sleep all day tomorrow and then I won't be able to get up on Wednesday. See—I'm already dreading Wednesday.

Tomorrow I have to go pay my speeding ticket, since my license is about to be suspended. I also have to do laundry and clean the kitchen. All I really want to do is lie around, since I didn't do that tonight.

I'm becoming so set in my ways. Really, I'm becoming obsessive-compulsive in more noticeable ways. It used to be a simple addiction to lip balm, and a fascination with all things toothpaste. A tendency to shred paper when nervous, and a need to categorize my desk supplies. Now, I'm washing my hands constantly (has something to do with spraying dog shit for a living.) I need a ton of sleep, and I pout if I don't get it. I've grown extremely careful about drinking too much, because I'm so afraid I'll have a hangover like that last one. Really. After discussing it tonight, John and I realized that it was probably part hangover, part alcohol poisoning. I was in such bad shape that day. I mean, I puked up most of what I drank, and I still had the worst hangover I've ever had. I was so sick, I couldn't stand up long enough to microwave my spaghetti-o's. I was so sick, I actually ATE spaghetti-o's, with my hands shaking and the cat locked out of the bedroom to keep his annoying, prying, sniffing pink snout out of my spaghetti-o's. I can never, ever face a shot of Jack Daniels again. Ever.