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I am updating by email from work again. (Note to my biographer: you can tell when I update by email by the format of the date. I apologize if I've told you that before.) My neighbors' internet connections still aren't cooperating. I don't check diaryland at work, I only send in entries by email. I've probably written all this twenty times before but I don't remember. This morning as I was cleaning up my puddles of spilled hot chocolate, the button on my pants broke. I could leave it at that - I should have the whole entry just be that sentence - but I feel like wasting time productively right now while my giant merged document is printing. And so I shall type some more. The button on my pants had been on the verge of breaking for eons, probably, and finally succumbed today. It was a plastic button. I had imagined spilling hot chocolate all over my desk many times before. Finally today it happened. My papers, which have dried into stiff brownish parchment, smell good. Luckily nothing "important" was among the deluged. Did I tell you about the show I went to last week? The band I saw was good but not as good as the time before - I've seen them three times now, once in Seattle and twice here. The first time I saw them was forgettable, the second time was unbelievable, and this third time was okay. It was too loud. The people I was with got in a fight, which was weird. One of these days the internet will start working at my house again. I feel very cut off. Also, I feel like things are about to change. I am glad.
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