Sorry to neglect you*. We got into Mesa on Tuesday night, after much caffeine and driving. Since then, we've unpacked and set most things up, but not the internet. We've been trying to set it up, but Cox is an internet service provider full of bastards and I swear they didn't really hook up our cable. Not only that, but the jerks won't have anyone out to fix the problem until Tuesday (I have no leverage, either, since my apartment complex will only let us use Cox). Stoker and I have had to buckle under the pressure and find the public library.
So here I am, at the Mesa public library, listening to some guy (I think he's partially deaf), try to find the Harry Potter series. The problem is, he thinks it came out in the 60s. The librarian keeps telling him, in her most polite yet firm voice, that Harry Potter didn't come out then. He won't listen ... I mean, he won't give up and just accept that Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire came out last year. And now there's a security officer (I hate security officers, they're always such jerks) standing by the "Ask Here" desk, oh wait, he's standing right next to the belligerent patron. Man oh man, I do not envy the librarian. I would have shaken the patron by the shoulders already and yelled in his face, "There was no Harry Potter in the 60s, how can I make it any more clear!!!!???" Well, now the big security officer just escorted the patron out, who apparently will now be going to the Tuscon libraries to find this mysterious 1960s Harry Potter series.
But seriously, I sympathize with deaf people, I really do. It was just his over all belligerence and ignorance and general stupidity about the whole affair. I'm sorry. Maybe he was also a little slow or something.
So anyway, I haven't found a job yet and neither has Stoker and we're both very depressed about it. Well, I'm not depressed so much, just worried. I'm sure it will all work out in the end, but right now I feel guilty over buying anything. Yesterday I went into this sweet cd store called Stinkweeds (looking for a job, believe it or not) and impulsively bought one of Mirah's albums. I didn't tell Stoker until today and he thinks I'm a horrible wife now. Okay, so maybe he doesn't think I'm horrible because he just came over to give me some kisses (but really he did that to get on my good side so he could borrow my palm pilot). I have this awful sickness, you see. An addiction to buying music, movies and books. I hardly ever buy clothes or anything else and so I always look like a hobo. But at least I have my music, books and cds. Honestly, you should see our apartment. We have 4 guitar amps and 5 guitars, plus Stoker's recording equipment, two book shelves and about a billion cds, with a smattering of records. Sound cool? It is. It's very fun being me, save for the fact that I currently have no income.
Oh, and that was a lie. It isn't fun being me. I have an addiction. I need help.
Alright alright. I must go. Who knows when I'll return. Maybe I'll end up in Tuscon, looking for a 60s version of Harry Potter. Kidding, kidding, that was really mean.
*you meaning my millions of readers and fans.