First, a few little mentions of gratitude. Thank you to :

Josh, my lovely boyfriend for signing my blank little guestbook. And also for calling me last night and being generally lovely.

My new friend, Orcus for linking me as one of his two favorite journals. Everyone should go read about his punk escapades now. Especially the one from November the twenty-ninth.

And finally, Pansygirl for returning the favor and living me a little note with sparkles and glitter and light. She's a nice little Australian.

Now, onto the meat.

After returning from taking the SAT and writing the entry before this one, I finally gave in to sleep. I slept from about 12:30 to 6:00 p.m. last night. I would not have risen, either, had my mother not completely forgotten to pick my sister up from work.

My sister works at a fabric store called Hancock Fabrics. Now, on the surface there is nothing at all strange about that. Until you meet my sister. She is your typical disgruntled metal head teenager from some small town in the middle of nowhere. Her daily attire is all black, band shirts obligatory. The patronage of Hancock fabrics is, on average, sixty-five years old or older, as are all of the women that she works with. Now, here is the spooky stuff.

When she went in to apply, they hired her immediately. Not because they were desperate, but because they thought she was adorable. Secondly, she gets along marvellously with all of these women and her customers. She is, in fact, the most popular employee.

"C'est la vie, say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell."

So, I go to pick her up. We have a tradition of dining at this retro mongolian bar-b-q place every week. We've been going there since we were small enough to split a plate. The owner is this Chinese man named, well I am pretty sure it is not his real name, but he goes by Richard. He is there almost every time the place is open, and most of the time he is the sole cook. I am sort of concerned for the place if he passes away. I hope they've trained someone.

Well, that was a fairly disgusting thing to say.

"I am a bad human being."

Richard served in Vietnam. He's such an upstanding member of the community, in fact, that he has one entire wall of the place covered with commendations from the city for service and dedication to this organization or that. Most are veterans or community service clubs. He is always exceedingly friendly. All of the patrons to this place are "regulars". Most, like my sister and I, are people who stop in every week to support the place. The food is phenomenal, cheap, and always fast. You can't beat it.

When I returned home, my boyfriend Joshua called. Apparently, he had been trying to do so all day. Shortly after noon, he had called and described what he heard on the other side as something like this:

"It sounded like someone had been stabbed or beaten and was seriously struggling to get to the phone."

That was me, of course. I don't remember any of it. I do remember that when I woke up at six the reciever was off the hook right next to my head and was wailing at me. This had not been enough to wake me. So, if there were any important calls that during those six hours, no one got them.

I went to bed at about midnight last night, at Josh's insistance. This morning, I woke up at nine a.m. I felt marvellously alive and energized. It was a bright, stark fall morning with all sorts of possibilities. So, I immediately forced myself to go back to sleep until noon. Well, it's better than being disappointed. At least I could sleep soundly knowing that I was missing out on a perfect morning. If I had actually indulged in it, I wouldn't have had any such garuantee.

So, now it is about 2:10 p.m. I get to pick my sister up at 6:00, hoorah. I put myself to sleep with Douglas Adam's second book, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe last night. Rest in peace, Douglas. I may read a bit of it this afternoon during my downtime.