hot for a guy named meriwether

July 19th, 2004

I might have started to feel bad about being caught in this afternoon’s downpour if I had not just caught the Lewis & Clark feature at the Imax Theater. Even with my arms loaded under the weight of unbridled Bed Bath & Beyonding, I felt I was obliged to take a vow of non-complaint for at least the next forty-eight hours. You know, in respect for Lewis and What’s His Face.

Ah, Meriwether Lewis. I’m sure that in real life he wasn’t nearly as attractive as he was on the big screen at the Natural History Museum. But I’m also quite sure I don’t care. Rugged. Brave. And from his journals, a really swell, sensitive guy. If only I’d lived in 1804. First of all, I’d probably have kept his adventurous spirit a hell of a lot closer than 4,000 miles away.

Enough fantasizing.

I needed this weekend to get my shit together and do some writing. And while I got painful little writing done, my shit is, blissfully, together. Swept, mopped, dusted, eight loads of laundry, shower liner replaced, dishes washed, bed made, closets organized and, did I mention… eight loads of laundry done? I’m feeling like a new woman. Now, if only this new woman didn’t have to go back to work tomorrow. Can’t have everything, I suppose. Though it never stopped me from trying.

It’s my birthday tomorrow. I’ll be twenty-six. I know you all think it’s Tuesday, but that’s all a big trick. And I may as well mention now, that if you’re in any way tempted to send me silly little gifts or flowers or throw confetti on me as I walk down the street… by all means, indulge.

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