14 December 2001 - 12:17 p.m.

The mailman is wearing a pith helmet today. I can see him through my window. I hope he's cool with, you know, being stared at. I feel kind of bad about leaning way over my desk and putting my face so near the window when he could obviously see me being a big ol' voyuer.

But dude, if you don't want people staring at you, don't wear a pith helmet!

I'm pretty sure the pith helmet is a new thing. In fact, he may have put it on because of me, and because of the fact that, with cars in the driveway, which there invariably are, the path to my little abode is quite narrow, and is being taken over by what Rocky Horror fans would call a slut-eating tree. The mailman seemed to be having some trouble with the slut-eating tree, much more than I do, because he's taller, for one, and, for two, he's wearing this huge fucking pith helmet. Or maybe he's just a bigger slut than me.

I wish I had remembered the slut-eating tree thing earlier. Then I could have opened the window and yelled, "Hey, you in the pith helmet! Watch out for the slut-eating tree!" And I could have heard whether or not he was singing "There's a Light" quietly to himself.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: