2003-01-22 - 5:36 p.m.

OK--so I feel a bit better now. I did all the dishes, handwashed a color-bleedy sweater and hung it to dry, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned off my desk, drank more coffee, e-mailed my aunt with restuaurant recommendations and directions, swiffered my floor, cleaned the kitchen sink, got my bate on (don't ask), fought my cold, hung pictures in my room, and played a little guitar.

I have bottom windows that fold in, and I started to Windex 'em. It's so cold outside that the cleaning fluid turned to ice before I could buff it off, so I wisely decided to abandon the project.

I swallowed my pride a few weeks back and re-purchased Perspex Island by Robyn Hitchcock (I haven't heard the whole album since college, I think), and I just imported it into the ol 'puter.

The songs are so warm and beautiful and jangly and longing and fretless-bassy and postmodern-ish and fuzzy and I just want to snatch the fleeting ghosts from the air and open them like invisible garbage bags and crawl inside them and live in them forever.