(no subject)

What I have to do today: Withdraw cash from my checking account, get my mother a birthday present (maybe), go to work, make sure that at least somebody there knows how to do my goddamn job, come home tonight, take a shower, then go to sleep for maybe four hours, if I'm lucky.

What I really want to do: Withdraw cash from my checking account, call in sick from work, go to see the very first showing of Sky High, stay and see the showing immediately following that while grinning stupidly and vibrating in my seat from excitement, bounce home on the power of my glee, find a winning lottery ticket in the gutter, run into Jake Gyllenhaal on the way to the lottery office and fall madly in love, race off to Vegas to get hitched, and suddenly discover on the way home that I've developed telepathy and the ability to teleport.

...

There seems to be a schism between reality and what I really want to do. I hate it when that happens.

Perhaps if what I really wanted was to do my taxes or balance my checkbook, something exciting would happen to me. Although with my luck, "something exciting" would be a legion of flying monkeys attacking me on the way to work. Hmph.

EDIT: Maine to vote on repealing gay rights law. Oh, that's just lovely. *reads article, wants to hit things*

(no subject)

Another Sky High review. I am so tempted to claim some sort of debilitating illness and skip out of work to go see it. I know it could be derivative, I know it could suck, I know it's been done before, and I DON'T CARE.

*bounces around the room like a Tigger on crack*

*bangs into wall*

*keels over*

... ow.

(no subject)

*double-checks the hard copy of Dead Men In Dark Suits I printed out and bound together today* Jesus, was I drunk when I used the three-hole punch on this? There are seven or eight sections of paper sticking blatantly out from the top of the draft. (Also, if we were being literal and judging a book by its covers, or more aptly the space between them, it turns out I wrote the telephone book. Who knew?)

In other news, I really need to get up off my butt and start organizing stuff for my trip tomorrow. I'm pretty much already packed, but I still need to make sure my room is all straightened up and whatnot. *smacks own cheek* Wake up, stupid! Grrrr.

EDIT: You know, it occurred to me today at work that if I didn't spend most of my life desperately afraid of starting a fight or getting yelled at, I'd probably get a hell of a lot more done. My usual reaction to either one of those is to turn so introverted as to nearly turn myself inside out, a trick which I'm pretty sure would only be considered impressive in med schools. "Look, kids! My epidermis is reversible!"

I'm sure my painfully shy teenage self appreciates those times when I let her out of her cage, though, so at least I've got that going for me. Poor teenage me. She just sat in a corner and tried desperately not to do anything someone would yell at her for doing. *sigh*

In other news, I can't remember which movies I put in my DVD wallet for my trip. So, you know, tomorrow I get a minor surprise. :)