Note: I�m not making any promises. I�m just going to try. I also hate how my entries to me seem to be those of a big whiny loser; there�s a sense in which, deciding to write one, I feel obliged to maintain the narrative thread, which I inevitably realize afresh is awful and pathetic and anxiety-inducing and as I follow it often makes me more miserable than I did when I began. That is not the object of the game.

Or maybe I�ll apply to law school, if on the practice tests I can consistently hit 170 thus am a likely candidate to get in even with my stale recommendations. (172? 174? Benchmark TBD.) Whatever. The point is, I�m going to try to back off from using this page for my primal scream therapy and my endless breathless recitation of each new hapless self-rescue plot. And when I can�t do that, I will avoid the whole diary enterprise. And go running.

Bill Murray, Sean Penn, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Ben Kingsley, though I will have you know those last two, effete Mr. Blond vs. Sexy Beast, was a tough call and I might flip the order if you asked me tomorrow. I saw "Morvern Callar" this past weekend and now I love Samantha Morton for sure � can you believe she�s only 26? Shiznit. As for brainy Josh Marshall, I want to like him, I do, but every time I read more than three or so paragraphs of him my attention fades in and out, impatiently seeking elsewhere for sharper stimuli, and I�m reminded of my college boyfriend�s housemate�s pronouncement upon the scholarship of a brainy medievalist we all knew: His writing smells like turds. Sorry, Josh. The Shins show might have been enough to turn me off the Showbox for good, jury still out. Jury way the fuck in: the new John Vanderslice is, like, impossibly good, I can�t get over it, I can�t get enough. My classes are dumb and dumber, though here�s what�s exciting, I seem to be perceived by my classmates as one of the cool kids � people whose names I don�t know do know mine, and they make a point of using it to say hi and to try to talk to me before and after class, they laugh at my jokes when I�m not even trying to be funny. I am well regarded, and how hilarious is that? During the break of the Tuesday class I go get coffee, because you know it�s boring as all hell, and people want to come with me and chat along the way. I am not accustomed to the equation going in that direction. I got complimented today on my "sense of color" by the guy who a few weeks ago derided my work ethic on account of the conference-room water pitcher not being filled up before his meeting (despite today�s kiss-up I feel entitled still to hate him for that), and then a woman in line at the bank � where I believe I prevented the rent check from bouncing, hooray � said my coat was shaaarp. Still haven�t seen "Finding Nemo." I�m watching "The L Word" and am curious what lesbians apparently have against shampoo. Over the weekend I made banana bread, a mighty bolus of roasted cauliflower, an Indonesian rice salad I adapted from Moosewood, and split-pea soup. Reading much Lowell � did I mention, I finally broke down and bought it? Steve�s going skiing with his niece on Saturday and then next Wednesday night he and I leave for New York. I forgot to do this today, but in a perfect world I call up my optometrist about the glasses that were sucked into the vortex of my hotel room the last time I was there and I order the exact same pair again and they are ready for me to take them with me.

See? Like that, only less desperate and not so much as if I�ve got something to prove. Because I don�t. Remind me of that next time our paths cross, would you? And don�t take it personally if that doesn�t happen soon. Like I said, I think I�ll be doing some staying in.