02 August 2002 ~ Parallel parking with Ayn Rand...

I was feeling pretty good, and pretty sleepy.

I settled into my bed, wearing shitty old sweatpants and an ancient Java Joe's t'shirt.

I sipped my jug of homemade blackberry tea.

I turned off the radio, grinned, snuggled into my nice warm sheets...

...and realized I'd forgotten my book someplace.

I've been trying to read "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" by James Joyce. It's been sort of pissing me off, and I've had this book for gahd knows how long, and STILL haven't gotten past the first page. James Joyce has fun pissing me off. You should have seen me trying to make it through the first page of "Finnegan's Wake." Heh.

...But still, I wanted something to read before I fell asleep.

I looked all over the bedroom. I wanted a story. Nothing too difficult or mind-straining.

(I skipped over "Walden." I STILL haven't read that, either, but "Walden" puts me to sleep. It's so lulling, all that nature shit... You know...)

As a last resort, I chose :The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand.

I found that book, in perfect condition, in the "free-box" (ie: dumpster which one is encouraged to garbage-pick from). Once I'd completed reading Ayn Rand's "Anthem," I understood why it was in the free-box.

Ayn Rand is really kind of a twatrag.

I don't like her much at all.

Once, when I was 18, I tried to read "Atlas Shrugged," by her, and I got so pissed off at her after reading maybe two pages of the introduction, that I swore I'd never read any of her other stuff. She's really quite an egomaniacal bitch.

Read twenty pages of "The Fountainhead," last night, and gratefully fell asleep. Fell asleep a little pissed off and had a lousy dream about New Jersey, my neighbor down the hall, and somebody whom I can only describe as Holden Caulfield. You woulda had to've been there. Thanks, Ayn, for the lousy dream.

Went driving today with Louise. Louise doesn't know how to parallel park either, so we were going to drive around the Evergreen parking lots until we figured it out.

Louise's car handles like a dream. It's not like a car at all; it's like a video-game controller. I didn't feel like I was driving; I felt like I was playing Tetris.

(Once, playing Tetris, I beat the game. I swear I did...)

Louise tried to parallel park. She's pretty shitty at it. But they don't test for parallel parking in California.

To make things hard for myself, I laid down some objects in the lot to act as imaginary cars. In front, I laid down my notebook. In the back, I laid down "The Fountainhead."

I was doing pretty good.

Until we felt the thump...

It took me a couple of tries to get within twelve inches of the curb.

I'm going to pass my driving exam; I WILL pass it. I probably won't get a hundred percent or anything, but I will pass it.

Fuck it; I meant to run over "The Fountainhead" anyway. I didn't mean to hit the imaginary car; I DID mean to run over "The Fountainhead."

*GRIN*

I still haven't brushed off the tire-track marks. I think I'll keep them there, and show them off, and call myself a revolutionary.

Louise called me a Commie. Louise likes Ayn Rand. But I think she was giggling anyway.

This is just an entry to let you know that it's amazing what a hardback book can withstand.

Love,
~Helena*

"Read 20 minutes EVERY DAY!" --a billboard outside of a school in Lacey, WA.