Deep in the cell of my heart, I really want to go.
I have been ebaying lately.
Tonight I am bidding on a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories printed in 1898, just four years after its first publication. I have been keeping my eye out for first editions - they run about $300-400.
The one I am bidding on is currently sitting at about $11.
Let's hope I get it.
If I were rich, I know I'd spend thousands upon thousands of dollars on books. First editions, antiques, collectibles, thrift editions, paperbacks.... books enough to fill a house (I think that's the idea).
Actually, if I were rich I'd send my children to college. I'd send them to so much college they'd have to get triple PhDs before I'd let them off the hook.
The rain finally let up. It feels nice, though the carpet in the living room is still soggy and musty. It's nice, though, to walk about outside. For the past few days my pant legs have been perpetually cuffed with cold water. The roads and walks are engineered very poorly for rain. There are thick puddles and layers of moisture everywhere. You can't walk about without getting your socks drenched. I've not felt very cozy, despite my teas, cocoas, and hot meals.
Tonight Jessie and I took a break from regular life and went out to dinner. We had creamy stuffed pasta and dipped bread in olive oil and garlic.
All week I've been looking foreward to seeing Joel again this weekend. Last weekend was so much fun that I called him early this week and made a promise to get together for dinner tonight, and I told him again and again to call me if ever he had a free moment during the week.
Got nothing.
I don't know why it sets me back so severely. I felt so sick over this neglect that I ditched out. No dinner. No hanging out. No Joel. No Rachel.
I should start picking up the threads, shouldn't I? The case is obvious - I'm not missed. Goddamn, that hurts.
Yeah.
It hurts like hell.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed.
Don't try to wake me in the morning.
I'll be a bit less droopy after I've slept a bit.
Someone tell me when the clouds are going to lift.
Tonight I am bidding on a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories printed in 1898, just four years after its first publication. I have been keeping my eye out for first editions - they run about $300-400.
The one I am bidding on is currently sitting at about $11.
Let's hope I get it.
If I were rich, I know I'd spend thousands upon thousands of dollars on books. First editions, antiques, collectibles, thrift editions, paperbacks.... books enough to fill a house (I think that's the idea).
Actually, if I were rich I'd send my children to college. I'd send them to so much college they'd have to get triple PhDs before I'd let them off the hook.
The rain finally let up. It feels nice, though the carpet in the living room is still soggy and musty. It's nice, though, to walk about outside. For the past few days my pant legs have been perpetually cuffed with cold water. The roads and walks are engineered very poorly for rain. There are thick puddles and layers of moisture everywhere. You can't walk about without getting your socks drenched. I've not felt very cozy, despite my teas, cocoas, and hot meals.
Tonight Jessie and I took a break from regular life and went out to dinner. We had creamy stuffed pasta and dipped bread in olive oil and garlic.
All week I've been looking foreward to seeing Joel again this weekend. Last weekend was so much fun that I called him early this week and made a promise to get together for dinner tonight, and I told him again and again to call me if ever he had a free moment during the week.
Got nothing.
I don't know why it sets me back so severely. I felt so sick over this neglect that I ditched out. No dinner. No hanging out. No Joel. No Rachel.
I should start picking up the threads, shouldn't I? The case is obvious - I'm not missed. Goddamn, that hurts.
Yeah.
It hurts like hell.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed.
Don't try to wake me in the morning.
I'll be a bit less droopy after I've slept a bit.
Someone tell me when the clouds are going to lift.