Transplanted Life
Sunday, January 30, 2005
My own fear of irrelevence
Met up with Kate at the Sunday-morning movie club today. The movie was an awful speculative thing about Napoleon's last years; badly written, directed, and acted. One of the questions raised was how someone as active and intelligent as Napoleon could, as presented in this movie, apparently spend his exile not driven out of his mind with boredom.

The answer is, it just sort of happens. You get used to it. I mean, I've had nothing to talk about for five days, for the second time in two or three weeks. How can that be? Not only am I an attractive, intelligent woman with cool friends living in a nifty city, but, hello, living science fiction story! And, hey, finding out about Telly would, if my life were a TV show, be a big plot twist that drove two months worth of stories.

Instead, I find myself steadfastly refusing to talk about snow, because I already talked about snow last week and as boring as repetition is for people to read, it's even more deadly for me to type. But, hey, another storm, more trains being late. Second verse, same as the first.

I did get a kick out of Maureen's boots, though. My winter boots are pretty throughly functional - they're like high-top sneakers, only black and made of a sturdier material with a deeper tread. Unlike normal girls' boots, the opening at the top is wide enough to tuck your pant legs into them, creating a sort of seal. Okay, I confess, I found them in the mens' section of the shoe store. They work, dammit.

Maureen's, on the other hand, are something I like to call "Wookiee feet". They're black and have fake fur on the outside. I want to comb or groom them. They don't appear to keep her feet particularly warm, and tend to pick up snow and drag it with her. Sure, they look snazzy, but just how practical can they really be?

Well, time to hit the sack in order to get to work tomorrow. No reason for the trains to be late any more.

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