Why Can't Something Happen NOW?

I have got this madly social couple three weeks coming up, and I'm sitting here at almost 8 pm hoping it will soon be late enough to go to bed (without waking up ready to go at 4 am, that is).

Tomorrow a pal of mine whom I haven't seen for way too long will be in from California with his lady, and we're going to try to have a drink if they're not too plane-flighted-out.

There's something or other going on Saturday but I didn't write it down when I saw it, so it must be a street fair...I wouldn't have written that down if I knew I could get the info from tomorrow's paper. And there's yoga tomorrow, too, since I haven't managed to make it there all week, due to a combination of circumstances involving money (of course). Social Security didn't get my money in the bank until Wednesday, and unemployment didn't turn up until today, you see, and in order to get me to yoga, a certain combination of things is necessary. First (naturally), I need some money to pay for yoga..."give what you can" or not, I don't think 12 cents in change is quite the thing. Secondly, BOTH the inhalers ran out of gas. Since I have to climb up to the second floor just to get to the class, this makes the whole exercise pointless. Although I could manage to invent a whole new yoga asana...downward dog to dog flat on mat gasping for air.

On Tuesday I'm off to a networking occasion. Yes, I know the Revlon Run/Walk was a bust for networking, but this is actually CALLED a networking occasion. It comes via the Freelancers' Union, which I joined because I thought I could get cheap insurance through them. Turns out I can't, because to qualify, you have to work twenty hours a week, which I don't. Ah, well, at least I got the invite to this thing, which is billed as being for people in the arts - i.e., film makers, actors, writers, etc., etc., etc. What the hell, my ten bucks buys me a drink and admission, and I'll throw a whole bunch of my pretty new business cards in my purse. Why not. (I just wish the term "networking" didn't invariably remind me of macrame. I keep picturing a whole room full of people inextricably wound up in string.)

Then Saturday the 6th I'm going to a screening of a new film by a guy I did a student film for a couple of years back. His spruced up version of said film won all kinds of indie awards, and anyway, he's a sweet guy. Besides that, who knows what he's going to be doing next? And after all, he did love my performance...

From the screening, I'll run over to Crosby Place, because Housing Works is having a street fair, and they always have great stuff on sale. Yeah, yeah, I KNOW I don't need anything, but...

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get Sarah's room cleaned out for the cleaners/painters to come in, but I really need some help here, because with just me (a very weak little me, not really able to haul huge boxes around) it's a slow process. I've got a hunk of it done, but sheesh...everything but the furniture has to go in my room. Maybe I'll feel more energetic after yoga tomorrow. (Hmmm. Maybe not.)

Joshua is being more of a nuisance than usual, and showing no signs whatsoever of getting his rear out of my house. It's just one disease after another. And he keeps waging war against the fact that I smoke in my own house. His method of doing so is first of all, to heave deep tragic sighs all over the place (sometimes practically blowing the morning papers off the kitchen table) or stomping out of the house in high dudgeon. Or kicking things. Or ostentatiously taking his food down to the den to eat. I ignore him, but it's irritating as hell...and, by the by, has a tendency to make me smoke more than usual just to annoy him. Anyway, in case he hasn't noticed, it is still (at the moment, anyway) MY HOUSE, and there is an obvious solution to his problem with my smoking in it. Can we all say GET OUT?

I think I'll go to bed and read. One of the pluses in cleaning out all those books Joshua threw in Sarah's room is that I've come across things I haven't read in ages, which is always fun. I do wish there were some sort of wildly fascinating career for which you got all kinds of money and perks for lying around in bed all day reading...wouldn't that be lovely?

Love, Wendy