2002-11-20
5:55 p.m.
fucking klimt.
the longer I'm here, the shorter my nap time when I get home. tonight will be very long, one of those nights where I wish I were a coffee drinker. but I'm sure that brave new waves will keep me alive for the first half, anyway. oh god, you wouldn't believe my apartment. the floor of the living space is devoted to two ginormous pieces of matteboard, one black and one olive green, a towel covered with crayon shavings, four boxes of crayons, a box of wax paper, and an iron. and lots of cd cases. the kitchen counter is full of all the bowls I haven't had time to wash, and the table is a mass of shiny and matte gold paper, knives, and every kind of glue a girl can buy at her local loomis. there's not a square foot of floor space without a piece of vitally important tracing paper or reference book. this had better be good. and you, you people that I love (who know where these words are) - I miss you, you know? and I love you. let's drink hot lemon by the fire for the whole twenty-two days I'm home, except when we're in the rouge. say yes, say yes.
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