n'est pas

I'm waiting for the soy chicken to cool in the fridge, it's halfway through the fake chicken salad process. Everything is a process, everything is such a fucking process. My arms feel like spaghetti from weights at the gym, though I wonder if this strength training is even getting me anywhere- a future in discus and/or anvil hurling is looking rather grim. At this point, anyways. Last night I forwent the Killers afterparty (after what? after a show I didn't attend, either) in favor of not paying ten dollars to watch a Killer fumble awkwardly about a turntable or two. In favor of not seeing that bald go go dancing dude suddenly occupy an impressive amount of dancefloor. Instead I made a Pimms cup with fresh limeade, I made two actually. I'm going to start on Swann's Way soon. Tonight is the Japanther show. The sun is setting earlier, I wonder if anyone even notices.
There are rumors that next week the temperatures will drop back into the double digits