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It's colder than a witch's tit in this office. I was in such a mood yesterday that I couldn't have even thought about writing. I skipped out on a poetry slam rehearsal (the team is going to NYC at the end of April) because I have not had time to sit down with my creative side and discuss what we will be slamming. Plus, when I go to these rehearsals, all I hear is "I don't really understand what that one means. You really need to practice." And I feel like I couldn't write myself out of a plastic cup. I saw an ad in the paper asking for women to donate eggs and be compensated $2000 for the eggs. I nearly jumped at this bizarre scheme, but I guess the doctors psychologically screen you to make sure you're donating your eggs "for the good of humanity." I would just do it for the cash. Weird, yes. There's also a long series of shots, surgery, and other messed up stuff. I'm really anxious to know what Andrea thinks of the apartment J. and I picked out. He's meeting her there and talking to the leasing agent. Of course my mother thinks that we'd pay too much for the apartment, and that the date we'd move in is shockingly soon, but she's also never lived on her own until she was 39 (only 3 years ago). J. and I really clobbered each other in bed last night. He accidently elbowed me in the face in his sleep and I belted him in the eye (not enough to scar or bruise, though) with my fist covered in the flannel blanket while sleeping. It's dangerous to sleep together. But sweet is the danger (grinning).
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Singing in my head: Believe by Cher |
