Bad Days > Good Days?

Why is it that telling stories about bad days is infinitely more interesting than telling stories about good days?

Maybe because it makes us feel better to treat the bad stuff lightly, later, as a sort of joke.

Okay, I thought I was going somewhere with that.  The real reason I decided to post again was because I realized I hadn't posted for almost a week.

I just cleaned out all the drawers in my dresser, in hopes of eliminating all the clothes I no longer wear.  It was actually a lot to give away, and my motivation behind doing so was selfish.  I want new clothes!  Is that wrong?

Yeah, kind of.  But at least I'm being honest about it?

Perhaps that fails to redeem me.  Oh, well.

I went to Half Price Books for the first time yesterday.  I already want to go back.  Unfortunately, the reason for my visit was school-related, so I could see if they had the correct editions of my books for class.  They had one, Travesties by Tom Stoppard, which is in fact a play.  It's all right, most of my books are going to be brand new from Amazon, and I can't resist that new-book smell.  Two of them came in already, and I just want to read them because they're gorgeous.

That could possibly be almost as bad as judging a book as bad from its cover.  What I'm doing is, essentially, judging books by their covers, but just that they will be amazing, instead of horrible or boring.

I was looking for a French textbook on a low shelf in the Languages section at the store, and I couldn't find it, so I stood up.  And what stood me in the face, but for the Writing/Getting Published section.  Four solid shelves of self-help books pertaining to what I've been thinking about so often these days.

And I went a bit spastic, going through all the titles and not knowing which one to choose (because of course upon finding the section I knew I must buy one of them, as long as it was under four dollars).

Then I saw the book Sparknotes put out on writing short stories (and I have, actually, finished three short stories and begun more since), and it was $3.98, so I went for it.

And it hasn't been very helpful.  I've skimmed it, and handed it off to my sister Sarah (aka Food Nut, on blogspot), who will benefit from it, she says.

I went to Barnes & Noble later in the day, after bringing my other sister to her piano lesson.  Saw the new Meg Cabot book, and it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to purchase it.  I don't understand the kind of power that woman's writing has over me, she's not nearly the crème de la crème of the writers in contemporary literature!

Sigh.  What else?

I can't seem to stop writing lately.  Great, now that I said that, I'm sure I've jinxed myself.  Awesome.  But yesterday I managed to write about a thousand words in one sitting, which is better than I usually do.

I keep getting so distracted while I'm writing this post, gosh.

In other news, I don't know what kind of job I'll be getting in LAUD, but I hope to God I'll be able to pay off my student loans at a good clip.  Just thinking of that since I had to get this year's financial aid sorted out recently.

Is a day 'bad' if you're just kind of bored?  Or full of ennui?  Ennui is a type of boredom, but an extreme kind.  The French kind.  Okay, now I'm just being silly.  This isn't an interesting post at all.

I think I'll just blame the 97-degree heat (I feel as if it's hotter than that, though), and the fact that I have to wake up at 5:30am tomorrow, for my ennui and general discontent, and call this lamest-post-ever a wrap.

Christine out.

PS: Keep hearing this song on the radio, and I kind of like it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E  It's a bit haunting.