aoife

I've spent far too much of this summer doing nothing worthwhile. I haven't made it through nearly enough movies off my Netflix queue, I've only polished off one book that's good for me (and two movie-star biographies: Bette Davis and Marlene Dietrich), I've interviewed one rock star (the Rev. Horton Heat), reviewed 8 or 9 CD's, gone swimming twice, been to Atlanta once and Columbia three times, gone out drinking two or three times, worked on my french some but not enough, hung out with a friend who I think has a crush on me, reaffirmed that I am still hot, and ridden my bike a good bit.

I suppose that's not at all bad considering I work 50-60 hours a week at a bike shop, which means physical work as well as dealing with stupid tourons.

But what I really need to do is to WRITE something good, and have a hot summer fling. Oh, and go find out if my ex is really getting married.

But tonight, and most of the time, when I get home I am far too tired to concentrate on anything, and that includes books, movies, and making myself cute enough to see the boy I haven't seen in two years, not to mention summoning the guts to walk into his place of employment and say hello.