If you don’t find it in the index, look very carefully through the entire catalogue.
Sears, Roebuck, and Co., Consumer’s Guide, 1897
Entry Comma Journal
December 5, 2006
Important Technical Note: My e-mail has been mundo sucky lately (the e-mail gods, they hate me much), so if a) you’ve sent me an e-mail, or b) I’ve sent you one, something might have gotten kinked up and we might not be connecting. (Cue Cool Hand Luke quote: “What we have here is a failure to communicate!”) If you sent me an e-mail within the past two months and have not yet had a reply, do please drop me another note.
I have kind of forgotten how to write things that are not for Work, by which I mean School, by which I mean my Big Huge Final Assignment, by which I mean HELP ME I HAVE LOST MY MIND. This sucks for you as a reader, since the Big Huge Final Assignment is a highly-stylized, strangely-grammared, and insanely over-punctuated piece of technical Hell, so you are going to see (ahem) weird writing comma lots of in this entry. Also, there may be references to drainage water and sediment and variations on the word salinity, because that is what the Big Huge Final Assignment is about. Please excuse me while I locate my skull’s hydrofracture point, bash it against an aquifer and die.
This is actually a horrible, horrible time to be doing the Big Huge Final Assignment, because it is the holiday season. No, I’m not doing anything big this year; holidays just put me in a hate-everything place, which is not conducive to prolonged concentration because hating everything is quite exhausting and requires frequent naps and snack breaks. Plus there are all these other annoying circumstances, like everyone in my family being sick and having lots of doctor appointments, and belated Christmas shopping, and medication that makes me dream a lot and thereby messes up my subconscious, and a cat who just discovered the Joy of Pillows and now waits for me to fall asleep every night before creeping onto my pillow and stealthily pushing my head completely off of it so she can have the whole pillow to herself. If this keeps up, I’m going to order a World War I Kaiser helmet off Ebay and wear it to bed; sleep on that, cat.
In the little spare time I’ve had between cat attacks and drainage charts, I’ve been Christmas shopping, which is actually quite pleasant when done from home. I get to sit in my warm chair and sip my hot cocoa and tickle my cat and intermittently spend ridiculous amounts of money on people I like. If I ever win the lottery, this is the only kind of shopaholic I will be. On the down side, I’m doing some shopping for people whose tastes are completely, totally opposed to mine, which is not usually a problem—hey, it takes all kinds to wreck a planet—but I can only look at so many hand-painted, bow-wearing wooden geese wall decorations before I have to get up and go stand in front of the bathroom mirror and say HERPES HERPES HERPES just to get the awful taste of cutesy out of my mouth. And, with a new niecelet in the offing, there is a small but definite possibility that I might be expected to get something Pooh-related. I refuse to endorse the silly old bear.
Uhrm. I do not think I can delay my return to my sedimental journey any longer without officially crossing the line from Well-Deserved Break into Lazy Lazy Slacker Time, so I will now return to my regularly-scheduled salinity. Oh yes, there will be tears. Salty, salty tears…
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