Obviously, since accepting the management position at the nightclub, Charlie will be working more hours. Today he’s training two new people to take inventory, which means I’ll be home alone all afternoon and evening. When he returns I imagine we’ll eat dinner (I’m marinating some chicken in soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and spices and will probably make garlic mashed potatoes), hopefully the television will be working, and I’ll go to bed. I open tomorrow and have an appointment in the afternoon with my counselor, then I have to be back on campus first thing Tuesday morning for another psychiatrist appointment (the study, not the therapy), they’ll increase my Zoloft, then I go to class. After that I have to head straight to the Science building for extra credit by participating in an experiment on attitudes about work. Or something. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but I get five points, and from what I’ve seen in my class so far, that could make or break me.
Our digital cable has been working off and on since Friday, when a repairman apparently switched lines between our house and the neighbors’. We don’t have a phone, so we wouldn’t have known whether or not there was a dial tone, but it appears we could have made a lot of long-distance calls in the past couple of days, and our neighbors could have watched some Clean House in high-definition.
A guy from AT&T was out here yesterday afternoon, but eventually had to wait on someone who could climb up on the pole and switch stuff back. It worked temporarily, but the internet started acting all wonky in the evening. Charlie couldn’t connect his PS3 to the wireless, which caused him anguish and frustration. When I got up this morning, the internet access was running fine, but the television no longer worked. We had to put in another request for service and, supposedly, someone should be here by 4pm. Great.
If nothing else, the on-again-off-again TV and wireless has motivated me to start burning CDs on to my hard drive. Currently I think I have about a dozen done. Only 288 more to go. Since we’ve had the 300-disc changer for years and years, I’d forgotten how shitty and old some of my music is. When I worked at the used bookstore, I started just collecting music, some of which (not all of the stuff detailed below, but most) I either didn’t know or didn’t particularly care for, but a housemate or boyfriend at the time may have. Which explains why I’ve pulled out albums by Sheryl Crow, post-1990 Depeche Mode, every Cure, Enya, and Sarah McLachlan album ever known to man, The Bloodhound Gang, Eminem, and even some really terrible dance/techno from the late ’90s.
I’ve long since sold or recycled the jewel cases, so my only option for this plethora of CDs is to beg someone else to take them, either via CraigsList, work, or eBay. I can’t imagine who would want something like 100 albums from 1994, but I could give it a shot.