Finally the computer agrees to coordinate with me. Ta-dah. She's working, the ol' Comp is working. Hurrah. Hurray. Three cheers for ol' Comp, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray.
OK, I'll stop being lame.
Anyway, I think I'm heading over to the library pretty soon. I want to borrow Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell. There's a character in it (Scarlett O'Hara), whose character is pretty similar to someone I know, by horoscope anyway. Fine, there are doubts on the truth of horoscopes, but still. I'm rather intrigued by the way this person acts, so time to wrap myself up in that book.
Have been reading Handbags and gladrags by Maggie Alderson. It's not bad, though I do still prefer The Undomestic Goddess. The other book by the same author, Mad About the Boy, was a total blah, no offence. I'm kind of wondering how it even managed to hit the New York Times bestseller list.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm still an INFP? I have (or maybe, I had) the rarest personality among all the 16 types of personalities. Not that I'm bragging, but INFPs take up less than 5% of the general population.
I lent 4 Blondes by Candace Bushnell to Fiona. It's a good book. I think she likes it. I think.
I noticed that up till here all I've talked about were book and personality stuff. OK.
Change of topic.
I think it's hard to express how I'm feeling now, because I don't even know how I'm feeling. It's a like big stew of emotions all mixed together in a cauldron (me. That was an analogy. Please don't think that I look like a cauldron. I assure you that I look nothing like that, just in case you don't know). I feel pretty weird. If my emotions were really ingredients for a stew, then I think the stew would taste pretty awful, or bizarre.
Dinner time.
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I love sleeping, eating and my imaginary tattoo.
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