The house of samantha has become a refuge of boringness in a world that is otherwise glamorous and exciting. And that's a great big lie, but the truth is that it's not-quite-spring-time and I am restless and insufferable, and the only thing keeping me from pulling up all my roots and setting off free is that I've done that before and it didn't work.
Tonight's actually the worst sort of night, because my chest aches from a cough I can't quite get rid of and I got drenched on the way home, so I really don't want to leave the house. But at the same time I don't want to be here alone because all that I'll do is pace around and talk to myself about how I really need to vacuum. This is why I ought to have roommates, and why you should all be glad that you aren't mine. Still, it's really too bad that my old roommate the magician isn't here to sit on me until I calm my shit down.
Instead, perhaps I'll turn up the heat and the radio and vacuum in my underpants, which would at least be a productive use of my currently endless time. Last night I was so tired of myself that I was in bed by 10:30, which is mighty early for this insomniacal waif. Once it's actually spring and the air isn't so damn full of waiting anymore I'll go back to normal. I always do. But in the meantime, it's going to be a pretty manic couple of months.
Just to warn you.
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