Bleh, more concert snaggage: not in the dates of the show, but in the ticket-buying. I had to buy three GBS tickets for the Boston show on March 20, which so far I can indeed attend at least timing-wise. And obviously, that means I'm going with people. The more the better, so we can present a unified front and maybe a good firewall in case something explodes at an oversold Avalon. The snaggage occurred in that the tickets evidently went on sale yesterday, and the two box offices at which you can buy them in person open at different times. And I refused to get the tickets in person because I need to shower. So now I'm out $73 because of the processing fees, rather than $61.

Yeah, so I went to the library yesterday and almost took out three more books to replace the ones I finished, but saw something that made me laugh too hard to actually take out said books. And the library didn't have The Navigator of New York or anything I don't own by Michael Ondaatje. I think he has more books than my three. I don't go to Canada to buy books, just music ;) The two tomes on my floor include a work by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and one of the earlier Tom Clancys that I haven't read, or should that be red. I realized a few months ago that the only books of his I haven't finished included shades of red in the title, whether intentional or otherwise.

Okay, I just copy-edited my own journal. I even do that in the hand-written version. If I were really that much of a perfectionist, wouldn't I have a job by now? It seems like such a goshdarn daunting task at this point. It's going to be especially hard to balance my checkbook because the prospect of it makes my brain hurt. My arm hurts more than it has all week. The prospect of everything makes my brain hurt.

Yeah, anyway, I just spent 40 minutes reading a website that scares the living fuck out of me. The person who I typed about a few months ago as "arrogant fucktard" just got even more fucktardian, if there's such a word, than before. And more smug as well.