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Thank god is almost Friday. I still haven't finished Ten days in the Hills. I had planned to read all night last night because I'm determined to get through with it by Friday. I don't know, though. I'm oh so close to finishing it, but I still don't know why I'm so anxious to be done with it. I know the books that I have waiting for me on my desk are so dull and uninteresting that I'll start reading them happily enough, but I won't finish them. It's a scary thought because I don't know how I'll spend my time if I don't have a book to read. That would mean researching and web surfing until I find some titles that entice me enough to dig up a copy.
I'm swamped with project to complete this month. I want to get my zine out before the end of the month, I want to finish this book I just mentioned, I want to find tix for Slayer, Godsmack, etc. I gotta stop by Petco for cat food (again). The cat food, BTW, isn't for me although I feel like I'm getting old enough to start developing a taste for that stuff. Oh, and I have to face a social worker who literally made me cry with those questions they're trained to ask to probe a person's life, to update her on my nervous breakdown/midlife crisis. When I think about it, I just feel so embarrassed. What should I say? Are you going to make me cry again? And then, now that she's had two whole weeks to analyse my situation, the questions that are going to be hurled my way will be such a flustering bugbear that I might as well go into rigor mortis now.
Okay. I'm sounding dumb again. I'm going to go read.