The Jackal

Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
-- Charles Dickens, The Jackal

I was reading my cerilian blue dickens novel again, this time in a lukewarm bath, my cheek resting on the enamel edge. Must keep it dry, it's not mine. I had just finished vomiting everything I ate since breakfast, it was now just past dinner, my guests would be arriving in an hour. Yeah, a party, despite my horoscope saying specificly that it's not an ideal time to bring guests into the home. I can't remember the evening, or I don't want to. Whichever it is, too much thinking will only bring about paranoia and self doubt, so it's best we move on.

I bought a DVD player and took it to an opening at an artist run center tonight. I walked around the gallery with it under my arm, the Future Shop logo acting as a banner on the side of the bag. It was performance art, the title: I don't care. I got home, the DVD player would not connect to my TV, it's too old. Tomorrow I will buy a new TV.