Meanderings: March 4, 2000

Saturday,
March 4, 2000

I am bored. Bored bored bored. I am so bored, I am cleaning my bedroom (and let me tell you, what's underneath the bed could frighten a strong man). I got about 500 words done on the new story before my interest petered out. I tried calling both Stacy and Patrick, and got answering machines both times.

Oh, God, I'm bored. I can tell I'm feeling better -- this is one of those times when I want to be on a highway an hour after a proper Midwestern thunderstorm, when the air is rain-washed and charged with the last flickerings of lightning, on my way to a party or a convention or a vacation or SOMETHING, please God. I want to drink tequila, have adventures and escapades, belt out "It's Raining Men" in a sleazy karaoke bar, flirt shamelessly, have long, rambling conversations about music and books and Lewis Carroll, use my native intelligence to outwit a band of mercenary terrorists, race a countdown to disarm a nuclear bomb, have an impromptu saber duel, dance my ass off. I want to do something fun, dammit!

Instead, I'm vacuuming. Being a grownup ain't all it's cracked up to be, kids -- right now, I'd be ecstatic over a simple phone call. This is so pathetic. At least Tina is having a good time -- she was so bubbly this morning. At 6:30 am, yet. She'll probably come back with pierced nipples and tales of rambunctious activity.

Oops -- the dust rhinos are calling me. Back to the glamorous life of a technical/science fiction writer, tra la.

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