e-m-j.

I didn’t actually soak my head, just my other bits, and feel like maybe you shouldn’t soak your head, either. My dearest darling is out to dinner with his boss and his boss’s boss and I am little-womaning it up at home. In fact, I am typing this on Mr. J’s computer because I’m too lazy to go downstairs and mess with my laptop, which is lazy indeed. So anyone who follows Mr. J on last.fm will be amused to see that I am straight up listening to Death Cab for Cutie and not signing out of his account. Take that, Jameson.

(Actually, a variety of sources will tell you that if anyone is merely “Jameson” in this household, it’s me, which is amusing in a number of ways.)

Nothing terribly eventful happened today. I went to work and survived. I went to the gym and discovered that I had left my water bottle and a sock at home, muddled through 15 minutes on the elliptical and then realized I hated the squench in my right shoe and gave it up. I came home, heard that I was dining alone, ate a glorious meal of pickles, soup and a sandwich and hopped into the tub for an hour to read.

I have no philosophical thoughts. I have been having an interesting discussion with a friend of mine about the aforementioned Death Cab for Cutie, during which it was mentioned that maybe certain albums are conducive to falling in love and springtime and that other ones are more for fall and being alone.

So what does it say about me that my favorites are always, always, always the ones for fall and being alone? Not that I haven’t always been a sucker for a sad, sad song. (See: Nick Hornsby, High Fidelity: What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?)

Also noteworthy, I’ve decided that I’m not going to come back to St. Louis for Radiohead. I don’t know. I told my bffl that it was nothing, I just wasn’t feeling it, but that’s not necessarily the truth. It’s not the entire truth, anyway, though it is a big part of the truth. It’s just that I always feel so drained after going to St. Louis for SOME BIG HUGE EVENT. I want the next time I come to St. Louis to be just for messin’ around with my friends, I think. And part of it is because my bones are settling for winter. I can’t help thinking that it’s going to be over before I know it, though, this season, at the rate things are going. Which is rare for me. Speaking of, it was supposed to snow last night and didn’t. It started at 3-5 inches and went down to under an inch of slush before not happening at all. That seems like a metaphor for something. A promising one, though.

(I could murder a cup of tea but, once again, the upstairs/downstairs issue comes up. Ah, well.)