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If anyone is wondering why I am daylogging it is because my own site is temporarily down. I normally don't daylog here because I see it as repetitious and I want to keep those noders who check out my site still interested.

I woke this morning from a dream where a big bug flies right into my face. The shock of this was what woke me up, one minute before my alarm would have gone off. I had to get a new fake nail put on at 9:30 because I chewed it off. You can imagine the tenacity it takes to pry a sheet of acrylic that's been cemented to your living tissue. You can also imagine what I would do if my fake nails weren't there: bloody stumps.

I drove by a branch of my bank in the hopes that their lobby would be open on Saturday, but it wasn't. I really think it's time I got a savings account. I was told that I have been put on another probationary term before I can be considered a solid employee, which pushes back any hope of a raise for another 30 days. I'd just broken my 90 day mark and was giving myself my first self-examination. It seems that the only part of my job that got me an extended probation was the proofing I'd done for various proposal documents. I was to make the corrections from a paper copy to an electronic one and e-mail it back, but there were always errors I'd missed. My manager is cool, though, and knows I can do better. When she told me this the first time, I was defensive and angry. But once I had re-proofed a document I was working on, I realized she was right. This frustrated me more, because she knows how broke I am and how hard I'm trying to stay afloat, but I see her point too. This is the only way that I can say I have matured at my job. Well, anyway, she was the one that suggested I get a separate account and send money to it with every check. I know everyone here would think that this is pretty simple, but I guess it never occured to me. I was always so good at avoiding responsibility with my non-budget. Even the word budget makes me cringe.

I actually worked my part time job today, catching up on a month of backlog for the quilt store owner. Five hours and $40. Not bad, but I spent it already plus some. I got some tiger balm and some kick-ass spinach and feta chicken sausage from Whole Foods. Nummy stuff, even if it's not beef.

I am making chicken tortilla soup for this pot luck the women from my Bible Study are having this Tuesday, to conclude the closure of a study on the first half of Proverbs. We will pick up our new study next week, as well as exchange our Secret Angel names (the church verion of Secret Santa). We are all to secretly give our chosen Angel little gifts and encouragement through the holiday season and, close to Christmas, we will all go out to dinner and reveal our identities. I love doing this when I get a person I know. Last year it was Terri, whose main gripe is having to work with some smug nuns at Mount Carmel Academy. One of the gifts I got her was one of those "Fighting Nun" puppets. She still talks about that. The year before last, Brenda made me an advent canlendar with all kinds of cute little things in the pocket for each day. It's acts like this that make me less annoyed about being female and getting to hang out with some cool females.

There is a guy who lives in the building next to Carson's apartment. He is nice and shy and seems to not have many friends, so when I pass our shared alley way I say hello. At one point I talked to him at length outside. It was nice to talk to someone, and I had nothing better to do. Then he shows up the next night and knocks on Carson's door. Carson is away in Egypt for drill. This kind of makes me feel awkward, because I want to be nice, but I have also stressed that I have a boyfriend, using that term and Carson's name to reinforce this fact. The thing that makes it hard to talk to him is the fact that he isn't articulate and seems to feel odd in his voice; he lets me do all the talking, which is the easiest way to make a conversation last longer than is appropriate. Just now he asked me if I wanted to go with him for a sandwich and a beer. I declined. Earlier tonight, I had turned down Ken, who was going to the "Art for Art's Sake" shindig in the Warehouse District (where all the galleries are) because it's gotten too cold with the front moving in. My back is still tender from last night's massage and I just want to stay home. Also, for me, I don't think it's appropriate to go out with a guy I do not know and who is not a friend of mine. It would be too awkward. Now, however, it is hard to escape him. I feel bad feeling this way, but I feel bad for him too. New Orleans is a horrible place to be lonely.

I made a mix for Shanoyu which I hope will be enjoyable. I've made quite a few of these in the last few weeks and people seemed to like them. This makes me happy.

I am still smoking and still hating myself for still smoking. I've looked at nodes from this time last year, and I was trying to quit back then. I look down at the hand that holds the cigarette when I'm driving and I want to cut that hand off. I feel cursed and yet it isn't even a unique curse. Every time Carson goes away for drill, I say to myself that this will be the time. But I know I will smoke when people come for the gathering. I will likely, depending on the ratio of smokers to non, let people smoke in my house. I know that my smoking upsets Carson and I also know that I have to quit for myself. I know I'm just saying this, but I want to believe I could do it if I could join that gym I can't afford. I am improving my diet, drinking more water, exercising, but can't seem to shake smokes. Cursed.

This is my first daylog, mainly because this is the first time I actually have something to say.

I am a bibliomaniac. This had been creeping up on me for a while, during high school and the first few years of college. I collected a lot of books during those years, mainly classical studies, art, and the culture surrounding technology. I bought remainders, went to library booksales, looked at the extremely discounted shelves at Half Price Books, and amassed a large quantity of books without spending too great of an amount of money on it. After four years of collecting books, I had, perhaps 1200 volumes.

Things started to change near the end of last school year. I had collected a lot of cheap classical studies books printed during the mid to late 19th c., and I realized that I did not have the space for them. More importantly, I realized how much they were selling for on ebay. So I started selling volumes for my collection, just to have some pocket money. It worked out relatively well. I spent the summer near Yellowstone National Park, away from Cleveland and my sources for cheap books.

I returned from Wyoming with $100 less than I had had when I started the summer. So I needed to make money somehow, and selling books seemed to be a pretty good idea. After a few weeks, I was making a couple hundred dollars a week selling books on ebay, on books that cost me perhaps $100. Then Friday happened.

I drove into Cleveland to help my father with some things at his art gallery. On the way, I stopped at The Two Dollar Rare Book Store. There were a lot of nice new books in that store, and I knew that I had quite a bit of money coming in soon, so I could buy a few more books than I normally do. There were a lot of nice books there, so seductively placed, some in normal bookcases, some in Barristers. So I bought a lot. Far too much. Far more than I have ever spent on books. I spent more on a single volume than I have ever spent on books at one time. I spent... about a fifteenth of my annual income on books.

It felt good, but a bit worrisome, too. What if no one is willing to buy any of the books? What if I just cannot find people willing to buy books anymore? What worries me more is that there is nothing stopping me now. Before, reason kept me from buying a book that cost more than $100, and even when I did that, it required a lot of though and planning. Now that I have spent $400 on a single volume, what is to stop me from spending much much more? If I just sold my van, I could probably get that early 15th c. manuscript Bible.

I am happy, just puzzled and confused. I have acquired many wonderful books, books which will provide hours of enjoyment...the first edition of Archimedes' Works published in a modern language, in Paris, 1807, Virgil's Aeneid, with commentary, 1695, a couple other late 17th c. books, a bunch of mid 19th c. gorgeous leather bound books of poetry, and an 1741 Virgil printed by Joseph Manni.

All these books are gorgeous. And as a result, I will spend more money on books in the future. I am not afraid. But I know that there is no going back. I will spend $500 on a book. I will spend $1000 on a book. And I will probably spend $2000, $3000, and more, for single volumes. And I will love every minute of it.

very rarely does anyone know these days. all questions and wondering and self doubt. how does this happen? can you tell me where this day will go? and it doesn't make sense so we spend a lot of time floundering. like the fish.

i am all rainbow's today, and i guess that is a good thing. today i found white, fluffy snow on the ground and it's a little sad, forced plain days. snow is beautiful but it covers so much too, hides away my trees and grass and it's so cold.

mustn't grumble... no, i haven't forgotten. thank you.

I discovered something today.

The reason why I never seem to do anything, is because it never occurs to me to do so.

I know this sounds obvious, but I needed to take a step back to notice. To some people, this must be second-nature. Jed works two days a week, and just 'does stuff' for the rest. In contrast, I've spent all summer working weekday mornings, walking home, and going straight to bed. On weekends I would only just get up. Not exactly a stimulating way of life.

This weekend was different. In line with my new plan (not taking uni for granted, doing something productive with my life, basically getting my shit together), I actually got up in the morning. I cooked pancakes (American and European), just because I'd never made them before. Even going to sainsburys with my wife was fun. Actually enjoyable, rather than just not unpleasant.

Today we went to see the ducks. It's something I'd been meaning to do for a year now, since I'd first walked past them on the way to view a flat, but I'd been putting it off for ages- It was always raining, or I was too tired, or it was too far. But today seemed right. So we set off to Blackford pond (a half-hour walk from the flat), carrying an old packet of cream crackers.

The contrast was amazing. It was as if we weren't in Edinburgh anymore. The streets were empty, it was nearly silent. You could even hear the birds. Then it started to rain, but it was happy rain. The rain came pouring down, but the afternoon sun was still shining, it was nice and warm, reassuring. The air smelled of rain. Behind us there was a rainbow.

The rain stopped as we got to the pond, and there were even ducks. I'd been worried about them flying south for the winter (not knowing much about ducks), but they were still there, and there were coots, seagulls, geese and even swans! The pondside was full of parents with small children; it was a really happy place to be. We threw bits of cracker to the mallards, until this huge swan came over. We lobbed some over its head so it couldn't eat all of it. When we ran out of crackers, we walked around the pond, watching all the happy children.

Looking back, today was like a holiday, and it only cost a packet of stale crackers. The last time I'd done anything like this was in Inverness, more than a year ago. There are hundreds of things to do that are fun, educational, uplifting, and free. I'm going to do more of them.

I just accidentally ate a piece of tin foil.

Will it kill me?

No, I don't think so.

What if it does?

It won't.

That'll teach me eat homemade 7Up cake without checking to see if foil is still stuck to the bottom.

I found more foil stuck in my teeth.

At work today no one would listen to me. I needed help. No one came to help. I needed more supplies, immediately. The guy who said he'd bring them to me decided it wasn't important and took his time, having to be asked no less than five more times before he brought the supplies. I needed voided sales taken off my register. No one came to take them off. I needed to go home. No one would relieve me. I hate retail, and even more I hate irresponsible people.

I'd better start my editing career really soon, before this place drives me insane.

And I'm one of the perky ones. That's sad.

They fired the back room guy for calling in sick.

Really the reason was that the district manager didn't like butting heads with him over what color his hair could be. When he didn't see "no blue hair" in the dress code, he assumed he could dye his hair. She said he had to change it back. He told her to show him where in the manual it says that. She couldn't, because it doesn't, but she insisted that it falls under the umbrella term of "inappropriate." She didn't like getting challenged, so he got canned the second they had an excuse.

I hate upper management.

On the brighter side, I love my new Tenacious D CD. ROCK!

Traffic in London has been busier these last three weeks, since four aircraft shredded a city’s-worth of families, left a campus-full of lovers grieving and a school's-worth of children without a parent.

It took a couple of days for people to realise, but since mid-September, people have moved away from the Tube, to the surface. Choosing frustration and delays over frustration, delays, and bomb risk. Today, after the counter-strikes, the traffic is busier than ever. As retribution rains on Kabul, Afghan lovers are dying; Afghan children are losing their parents and more families are torn apart. Here in London, we prepare ourselves for what we know will happen.

It is sad. So, so, sad.


Four planes, four pilots. Orphans, grief, pain and anger. Expect to see more.

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