8.11.99

    I've been on a motivational kick. That is to say, I've had motivation to get stuff done and I've gotten it done. Over the weekend I went through a major portion of the boxes in the den. Not a small task by any stretch of the imagination. I threw away a bunch of stuff and kept things that looked like I might want them later. It's so hard for me to throw away "memorabilia" but I think some of my fourth grade book reports can probably be tossed. T. was laughing at me as I held things up and told stories about them. A number of my projects and book reports had elaborate covers that I had made as "extra." Right after I told him that I got good grades only because of the covers I found one that said, "Good Job. Love the cover."

    I also found a report on Egyptians that I wrote in kindergarten or first grade. It is, obviously, very elementary and written in big, swooping letters. When I was in the fifth grade I got an assignment on Egyptians again. The morning of class I realized that it was due so I scrambled through my desk and found the first one. I got up in front of the class and started reading. By the time I got to the end of the first sentence, my teacher was giving me an odd, annoyed look and all my classmates looked thoroughly baffled. I ad-libbed for a few minutes, furiously scanning the one-page report for any facts I could latch on to, and then returned to my seat. Yes, I've been a slacker since day one. Though, I admit, this isn't one of the success stories.

    I finally managed to buy some new clothes. Two pairs of jeans, a blouse and t-shirt. All for $89 bucks at Old Navy. I had a gift certificate from my Inlaws from Christmas. I just got the certificate a month ago. My mother-in-law took back the clothes she had given me and then sent that. Hey, better late than never. T. went with me and helped me find stuff. I'm not a huge fan of shopping but I can be especially bad when I'm on my own. I usually won't buy anything on my own. At least, that's the case when I don't know exactly what I want.

    I don't think I ever want to shop at Old Navy again. The dressing room smelled of feet and the gaggle of girls in there were in maximum, teen-consumer hysteria. I remember that hysteria -- drunk with allowance money and unleashed with your girlfriends to buy whatever you want -- no one shall escape unscratched.

    And, since I am neither teen consumer nor drunk with hysteria, I probably should avoid the place. I wonder if Old Navy realizes that, as T. puts it, "people shop at Old Navy not for their advertising but in spite of it."

    I realize now that I am only capable of stream-of-consciousness writing. Time for bed.