![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Actually eating breakfast plays merry hell with my lunch schedule.
I am officially starving for liturgy, and not sure what to do about it. I really like my little Methodist church, because it is totally the church where Anne Lamott would have converted, had she lived in West Philly. However, after making a noise like an Anglican for four years in college I've never been able to go very long without starting to really, really miss the prayer book and weekly communion. Also, the Methodist church is very small and I haven't really clicked, community-wise. I'm hesitant to let that be a pretext for moving, though, because I am not a highly click-able person. And surely it's time for me to start trying to make friends outside my age range. I would really like to have some friends older than I am, but it seems that all the new people I meet are fresh out of college. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I would like to stop doing the just-graduated dance.
There's a job opening at Wellsley College that I would jump at, were Wellsley College not effectively in Boston. Insert professional/employment angst, with strong emphasis on the desire to have a job without an expiration date.
Waiting for Guffman is still a brilliant film.
Now two of the three dryers in my apartment building are broken. Well, one of them works if you tape the door shut, to which end I should leave a roll of packing tape in the laundry room. But the second one, I discovered on Saturday night, is malfunctioning in a singularly diabolical manner. To wit; it starts up as usual, so that you trip happily back to your apartment to watch Waiting for Guffman and do a spot of knitting, but then stops so that you return forty minutes later to a full load of clammy laundry.
I signed up for two concurrent ficathons, and have several ideas for one and none for the other. Last night I was distracted by the rediscovery of what was, I think, a good alternate start for what turned out to be Never Spoken. It's a much more impressionistic piece from Giles' point of view about coming down from the band candy high. Worth poking at some more, I think.
I am officially starving for liturgy, and not sure what to do about it. I really like my little Methodist church, because it is totally the church where Anne Lamott would have converted, had she lived in West Philly. However, after making a noise like an Anglican for four years in college I've never been able to go very long without starting to really, really miss the prayer book and weekly communion. Also, the Methodist church is very small and I haven't really clicked, community-wise. I'm hesitant to let that be a pretext for moving, though, because I am not a highly click-able person. And surely it's time for me to start trying to make friends outside my age range. I would really like to have some friends older than I am, but it seems that all the new people I meet are fresh out of college. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I would like to stop doing the just-graduated dance.
There's a job opening at Wellsley College that I would jump at, were Wellsley College not effectively in Boston. Insert professional/employment angst, with strong emphasis on the desire to have a job without an expiration date.
Waiting for Guffman is still a brilliant film.
Now two of the three dryers in my apartment building are broken. Well, one of them works if you tape the door shut, to which end I should leave a roll of packing tape in the laundry room. But the second one, I discovered on Saturday night, is malfunctioning in a singularly diabolical manner. To wit; it starts up as usual, so that you trip happily back to your apartment to watch Waiting for Guffman and do a spot of knitting, but then stops so that you return forty minutes later to a full load of clammy laundry.
I signed up for two concurrent ficathons, and have several ideas for one and none for the other. Last night I was distracted by the rediscovery of what was, I think, a good alternate start for what turned out to be Never Spoken. It's a much more impressionistic piece from Giles' point of view about coming down from the band candy high. Worth poking at some more, I think.
Tags: