As I have mentioned before, I'm typing up old entries from my various notebooks elsewhere. What I'm noticing is that there is no sense of chronology in them, particularly since I never bothered dating a few of the more interesting essays. What's really bugging me though is all the letters to various ex-boyfriends I have written out inside them. All kinds of piss and vinegar there. And the sad part is that I don't miss any of th ex's in question. For the most part, we've gone our separate ways.
Now, as to the book I was bitching about earlier this week, I'm taking notes. I'm also cross-referencing it with a few religious texts. There is going to be a reckoning, and I'm probably going to get a few people mad when I tell them how wrong they are in their suppositions. Heh. I always wanted to say that.
Now, I must slay the laundrobeast, with its firey breath and stench of death.