reading:
John Bowe (ed): Gig: Americans Talk About Their Jobs
Gail Simone: Birds of Prey
Sarah Vowell: Take the Cannoli
Howard Zinn: People's History of the U.S.
At a coffee shop again, gazingly longingly at Amoeba Music, where I plan to hock a few of my belongings just after one more scene (ONE MORE SCENE) of this screenplay.
I thought I would be in a whole other land today, so I had no plans. But once it became apparent that I won't be going to the exotic Grand Canyon until at least Thursday, I filled up quickly with things to read and people to talk to and canyons to hike. That is what's nice about this life. The utter lack of boredom.
I have the most interesting tan line on my right shoulder. It is what it looks like when you wear a sports bra under a tiny tank top, and then play three hours of softball on a Sunday. It doesn't hurt, but it's approximately the one part of my body about which I can say that. I am in PAIN, friends, PAIN. But, hurts so good, as the song goes.
Sun is shining outside, I'm wearing socks because of the air conditioning, and so much British media just fell into my hands. Tonight, I'll read a Meg Cabot novel and get paid for the mindless pleasure.