I really, really loathe thunderstorms.
I read the first chapter of The Great Gatsby a few nights ago. I liked it tremendously, but now I can’t find the book. I have three copies of it…somewhere. I keep having dreams that I live in West Egg and have dinner with Tom and Daisy every night, which is quite lovely – minus the fact that Tom has another woman in the city and I can’t stand that. Really, really want to know what happens in Chapter Two, not to mention the rest of them, so you can imagine my frustration with the fact that there are various copies strewn about my mess of a life. I’ll probably find them all in the same day. The day after grad school starts. And then I’ll line them all up together on my bookshelf, where they will reside for two years, until grad school is over. I bet I’ll get a few copies for graduation.
I had a staring contest with a copy in Barnes & Noble earlier today. The cover art is just so strange, and I’m sure that I’d understand it if it hadn’t been six years since I last read it. I thought about buying it, but four copies just seemed excessive. I had gone out to buy some new driving moccasins, which went well, except that I bought two other pairs of shoes and they’re all brown.
I did pick up the September issue of Vanity Fair. I don’t know why; I’ve never done it before, but there was a nice spread about how, according to Karl Lagerfeld, the “Great Outdoors” look is very “in” for the fall. I suppose, then, that it’s a good thing I’m moving to Boone, but I don’t think that a $400 Carolina Herrera quilted vest will get me any points there. I’ll stick with not having a quilted vest. The magazine did smell quite nice, and I have some new perfume samples of fragrances that I will never buy because I don’t even think they sell them to people who don’t have an American Express Black card.
I move one stupid week from today. I hate and love the process of moving. I hate the moving furniture part, the assembling all the things from IKEA that came in 9,000 pieces, and don’t even get me started on packing. I’ve been “packing” for the last two months. The other day I spent an hour sorting my socks by season (yes, an hour; I was also watching Modern Family), but then I got bored and wandered off to Starbucks. Normal people could probably get this done in two days. My excuse is that I can’t possibly, for example, pack up my closet because I will definitely want to wear everything I own over the course of the next week as soon as I zip up the suitcase. Or maybe it’s that I work better under pressure. Or that I think I work better under pressure. No consensus on whether I actually do or not.
Today, after acquiring the additions to my brown shoes collection, I spent two hours re-doing my running playlist. And then I went on a run and skipped through every single song and ended up listening to a Girl Talk album instead. Which is what I did before I made the playlist in the first place. I’m incorrigible.