listening to: my favorite Ben Lee song, which gave the lines for the titles of yesterday's entry. If you're ever curious where the lines come from, just check here.
Also listening to the faint sounds of Bob Dylan coming from my brother's room. I'm glad that he has such good taste in music. I can't remember ever having to listen to crap coming from his room. And I probably wouldn't even remember who =w= was if it wasn't for him.
feelin': sunburnt! from Ultimatin' yesterday, which was much fun, and worthy of giving me a bright pink forehead and cheeks. I suppose. And, really, I did also get to rub down Morgan with ice. How cana girl pass that up?
shocked that: Endora's closed down! And rpm! What is Savannah coming to?
just finished: sleeping for almost 22 hours.

Another good poem by my friend Jonathan:

good & bad

the ashtray I mounted
on my bike last week
fell off yesterday.

I don't even smoke.
I'd rather drink coffee.
I've gotten to the point
where an espresso
puts me to sleep.

I don't even have a bike.
I made that part up.

I like to think
that there are good liars
and bad liars.

Buy his book! The newest one is called The British Are Coming, and They're Very Disappointed In You, and there's an older, yet just as thrillingly nonsensical ("Yet nonsense that I am...strangely attracted to," says Martha Stewlart of Southern Living) one: Make Your Penny Look Like This. I don't think you can buy 'em from anywhere except out of Jonathan's bookbag, but you know.

Not much to say. When you sleep that much, all I'm left to be inspired to write by are my dreams, and I'm really not going to be one of those journallers who tell long stories of their oh-so-bizarre dreams. Everyone's dreams are fucked-up, people. And also: not that interesting.

Missed the season finales of Dawson's and Felicity last night. If anyone has a tape, let me know.

Still haven't found my Harry Potter necklace, goddammit!