May 1, 1997

Workers Of The World, Tie One On

I'll take a triple anything, except axle.

Sorry. I mean, it's not like we have an iron-clad contract between us, or anything. It's more like I have a contract with myself: write something every day, even if it's just a teeny entry, like this one's going to be.

School is over, except for two finals. One of the finals is at 8am Monday morning.

I didn't finish my screenplay. In fact, I haven't written on it in a few days. I'm in one of my I'll-never-write-again funks. And my parents are visiting for a long weekend. Those two statements are not related, at least as far as I'll admit.

We now have television. So far, I've watched NYPD Blue and tonight I'm watching Babylon 5. We have lots of guests over; I probably won't get anything much written tonight.

This week's Real Astrology:

O ye of little faith: Do you not understand that the events of May, 1997 are but the fruition of seeds you planted in August of last year? Do not thank or blame the gods for the destiny that is upon you, but only yourself. Go forth and assume your new rank and serial number, O favored one--as well as your new temptations and headaches--with full knowledge that these are the juicy responsibilities you asked for. These are the yayas you earned when you got your gagas out.