I am so sick of painting. I feel like I've been painting for weeks. That might be because I've been painting for weeks. I'm not into that "buckle down and get things done" kind of manual labor, so I've been doing a little here, a little there. I have one more coat on one more wall of my living room and I am done, done, done with the kitchen and the living room. Then it's on to the bedroom. I bought a pretty dark color for the dungeon of a bedroom I have planned -- a veritable shrine to hangovers. Ironically, I'll be spending my sober month to accomplish this... or is that appropriate?

As soon as I finish up, you will all be the first to see pictures. I'm not sure how comfortable I am having complete strangers knowing what the inside of my apartment looks like, but whatever. It's not like I have anything worth stealing. If I got robbed, it would really just save me the trouble of moving my old stuff out. (I keep the extra key under the welcome mat.)

(I don't even have a welcome mat.)

I put too much money into savings this month. I did it on purpose, to make sure I'd run out of money before I could spend it all. But now, I'm sitting home with no money and it kind of sucks. I need to stay home and paint anyway, and I've got 14 beers in the fridge screaming out for me. Perhaps I will combine these two activities.

I called Owen today because I haven't talked to him since he graduated. I asked him what he was doing and he replied, "Sleeping." I was really asking him what he was doing in life, but I had a feeling the answer to that would be the same, so I let it slide.