outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- brooding and mulling Ahhh, hot mulled cider, it really takes the edge off this brooding day. I have nothing against brooding days, except when there's no source of comfort to back me up. There's comfort a-plenty in hot mulled cider. Tomorrow is the family pumpkin picking excursion; I'll pick up a nice jug of cider and some spices, so if the weather is like this on Sunday I can make hot mulled cider for Rob and me. Can you count how many times the phrase "hot mulled cider" shows up in that small paragraph? The answer is three. As I said to socialpuppet, I was disturbed enough about my broken stapler to feel it warranted a eulogy in here today. I went to staple my homework pages together last night, and there was no tension in the stapler. I opened it up, and pieces came out in my hand. This was fairly horrifying, and I tried to put it all back together but nothing worked. I must confess, and I hope you all won't be terribly ashamed of me, that I am planning to steal my work stapler and bring it home. I know, I know. The irony is, that stapler is broken too. I knocked it off someone's desk and it became kaput, so I replaced it with my own mint-condition stapler. So I'm now going to replace my broken stapler with a slightly-less broken stapler that belongs to the company and wasn't mine to begin with. Good story, bravo. Melissa, if you're reading this, I tried to call you three times last night, and it didn't work. Wrong number? Possibly. Wrong Melissa? Most likely. So, my apologies. Americans: Do you ever get scared that people from other countries might think that all Americans are like the characters in Friends? Non-Americans: No Americans are like the characters in Friends. Hardly any, at least. Um... This is the kind of day where I mourn the fact that I don't live near a lighthouse anymore. Or more accurately, a foghorn. Foghorns are mournful themselves, like mother animals calling for their lost babies. They sound like loss. Somehow, I relate to that. Foghorns are one of my favorite nighttime sounds, along with bullfrogs, crickets, and rain. The cider is gone, and I should go. 9:41 a.m. - 2001-09-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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