cornhole

i've been rereading a collection of books that i loved when i was a kid. they're gothic novels for children by a man named john bellairs. i had superb taste when i was eight, because i'm totally loving these books now. and it's very interesting to play a little investigative pop psychology and pick out elements from these books that obviously influenced me as a child, and subsequently informs me, at least somewhat, as an adult. for example: my favorite color is purple and in the house with a clock in it's walls, purple is mrs. zimmerman's signature color. there are a lot more subtle and nuanced connections i've been making, but, you know, i'm only illustrating a point here, ok?

i'm taking the day off from the boyfriend, which is something i badly needed. i said i was going to do some "homework" on this stupid correspondence course i'm in, but i think i'm just going to spend the day reading books and magazines and nibbling on crackers. i might make some pornaments or start a postcard for jason later. maybe. i felt a bit guilty for blowing off the very thing i was scheduling this time for, but i haven't really had time to lay around on a gloomy sunday afternoon and read for a long time either, so fuck it. i've been proscrastinating so long with this course that one more day means nothing. plus, i plan on making a lot more time for myself in the future anyway, so it's not like today is the only time i have to be responsible. i have to make an effort to not spend time with m. as a matter of habit or obligation, because that's the kiss of death in a relationship (at least one of them) and i want to at least make the real effort of having something good and honest with this person. i can't do that if i'm on autopilot in any way, or if i'm crabby and irrational simply because i'm spending too much time away from my own time and space. so, no bra today for sure.