13 December 2002: Bathrobe

It's raining. 

I got cold and wet going to school, and I got cold and wet again coming home, and now I'm home, and dry, in my old striped terrycloth bathrobe which was left behind by some woman I was fucking for a while, somewhere in that long string of flings between Moonspice and Dragon Lady, and I can't for the life of me remember exactly which woman it was.  Seems like I've had the damn thing forever, and it smells only of me now.  Whoever it was, I wonder if I gave her anything in return, intentionally or not, tangible or intangible, and, if so, whether whatever it is I gave her has ever served, literally or otherwise, to warm her on a wet December evening?

Gemrise has moved into my living room.  He's listening to Rush.  He does that sort of thing.

Geminica posted to the Moot Zoo a little while ago, to say that Zebra's surgery was both successful and nonlethal.  Zebra is now the proud owner of a vagina.  Congratulations, Zebra!  I hope that it's a really nice one, and that you get to use it often.

Reading other people's online journals, which are often full of deeply poetic and moving introspection, and comparing them to mine, which isn't, has convinced me that I'm just not introspective enough to write a journal properly.  I don't know why, and I'm probably never going to give the matter enough thought to figure it out.

Time to eat, get dressed, and hop the BART train to Lexicat's housewarming party.

It's still raining.