GARBAGE JUICE. REDDISH-ORANGE, TRANSLUCENT and PUTRID, creeping across the kitchen floor. Febreze the area to disguise the scent, too tired to care. I’ve been in heavy rotation — homework, Sex in the City, Internet, Pretty Woman. Lots of productivity here, lots of progress.
I’m tired of eating candy bars, it’s all I’ve been doing for three days straight. I’ve been entirely too lazy to run to the grocery store to buy a loaf of bread, so I’ll settle for cereal. Boredom set in hardcore this afternoon, so I made my roommates’ bed and rearranged the refrigerator. Last week’s pancake batter is this week’s bacteria farm. The dishes are still dirty so I run them through a second time. I lead such an exquisite, daring life.
I’ve never seen ‘Pretty Woman’ before but I’ve been told it’s a very good flick. Julia Roberts, Richard Gere, Macbook Pro and I — together this evening, eating candy bars and drinking ice water on the living room floor, the garbage hanging out in the adjacent corner. A Swivel Sweeper infomercial flashes across the screen and I wonder who the hell is calling in for a facking mop at this hour in the morning. Fack. The people that order those at 3 a.m. must be the mysterious people of the world. The ones that are seldom seen, who sulk in the shadows of the night in front of their glowing TV screen, praying for a gadget that can lift their troubles on high, wipe away the dirt from under their feet, and remove the smell of garbage juice…
I’m going to bed.
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