It is confirmed. I have rickets. Damn it. There goes my shot at being the next Slim Goodbody.

I was severely bitten by the icy wind on my walk to the video store. It is frigid, or seems so after the recent spate of warmer temperatures.My leopard-print thong lies sealed in its protective pouch, waiting for thermometer to reach 60. Oh when?

Against my (and others) better judgment, I rented Possession. I am curious how well, or how crappily, they translated that lovely book. I remember it being lovely, or at least, being engrossed by it. Something that, sadly, doesn’t happen so much anymore. So, I should say it was an engrossing and possibly lovely book. And I should actively try to be more engrossed by things. I’ll do some engrossment activities in the morning, if my rickets aren’t acting up.

Such a frenzy of activity happening this week–film events, political uprisings, soft-shoe competitions, pie-eating contests. Plus, I just discovered that my graduate application is incomplete, and requires some last minute arm-twisting to get my recommendations in on time. And of course, I made an appointment to get my booster shot. I feel I am always striving to reach some state of rest, a period when I have absolutely nothing to do. But in truth, I abhor that state. I get fidgety and pace; open and close the refrigerator door. Flick through the pages of a few unfinished short stories. Then, out of boredom and fear, I load up on more activities, all the while resenting these self-imposed obligations.

There is a program on dirty bombs on TV. Everyone in Africa is starving. War looms. We are being “lead” by a bunch of lawless cowboys. Spring is delayed, indefinitely. The Grammys.

I am going to engross myself in something.