October 1, 2004

I almost came unhinged flying back from Seattle yesterday because the girl in front of me had on freakishly overlarge shoes. Seriously, her feet were rattling around inside them like they were Mary Jane-shaped buckets. I don't know what I thought she had in them, but it was driving me to distraction. I finally went and stood in the seat behind her before takeoff and stared at her intently yet (I like to think) seemingly nonchalantly, until I was satisfied that she was just some girl with big shoes, not a nutjob intent on dooming us.

I decided no saboteur would ever wear those striped pants. Besides, really, if her shoes were crammed with secret weapons, they'd be tight, not loose. I don't know what I was thinking. Too much television.

Afterwards, I became preoccupied with the 80-pound woman with the aggressive facelift who was seated next to me. She was nice enough, but I was already a little off kilter from the buckety shoes incident, and she had a sort of Tammy Faye manic air, so naturally my suspicions shifted to her. I couldn't tell if she was really just sniffling or maybe actually weeping, and I'm afraid I may have stared at her a little too hard a few times.

It's weird to think I'll be living in Seattle in the spring. While I'm pleased at the prospect of nesting and true love and all that, I'm nervous over the practicalities of shacking up. We're both very into our own space. I'm hoping we'll find some weird duplex hybrid configuration that allows us to have a central communal area, but still maintain our own discrete territories. I heard something about two separate houses joined at the bedroom, which sounded intriguing, although I suppose the kitchen would be a more pragmatic intersection. Both would be ideal.... In my imaginary world of make-believe, I'd get to build my own house. But as I'm neither rich nor a builder, that's out.

Aside from the stickiness of the whole sharing thing, I'm all atwitter about living somewhere new. I'm especially overjoyed at the prospect of easy gardening and real live basements, hurrah! We don't have basements here, so they're a completely thrilling novelty bonus item. The really terrifying part, of course, is getting my crap all the way there. I'm going to have to perform some painful surgery on my possessions, obviously for the best. But still, ouch. I love my stuff.

I'm also going to have a hell of a time depleting my pantry & freezer before I leave, but I'm very much looking forward to the challenge. I should be producing and distributing a good many desserts, which will no doubt boost my sagging popularity.

I had a dream the other night that I was making out with Clark Kent from Smallville and afterwards, I noticed I had a shapeless asexual doughy mottled white caveman body with long black monkey hair in hideous mangy patches along my back and sides. I realized it must have been revolting for Superman to pretend to be all hot & bothered about me, which made me very depressed. Suzanne (or was it Jay?) suggested that maybe he wasn't pretending, maybe I was normal when we made out, and the contact with him is what actually caused me to become the gruesome monkeyhair pasty caveman, like he was some Typhoid Mary of ugliness. This made me feel only marginally better.

09.15.04