I went into my room later and there was another spider, bigger than the last one, on my bed. Trigonometry made another brief appearance and I went to bed half-expecting to wake up with a tarantula on my shoulder. Bad things come in threes, so its said.

But then, they never come when you expect them to, so I say. Chances are when I pour myself a glass of milk, the third spider will be paddling through it at a leisurely breaststroke. Or when I pull a bagel out of the freezer, it'll be hiding in the hole. Yes, I have an irrational aversion to accidentally ingesting arachnids. You wanna make something outta it?

Or maybe the third spider has already come... I know there was a spider in my dream last night, if that qualifies. There was also a half-blind king acting in a reality-TV prodution of one of Shakespeare's plays, a tattoo magazine, a Grecian urn, and Jessie, who discovered my Parajournal (which, to the best of my knowledge, does not exist) and left comments in it.

But enough about that.

Oh yes, and I'm a muse. Sort of. Reyu recently expressed his joy in realizing that I am, in fact, a human being as opposed to an android. Or Daria Morgendorffer, however you spell the girl's name. I've only seen the show twice, a few years ago. Such a tragedy.

But. Maybe being a muse wouldn't be that bad. If it means I could sit on the edge of a desk saying things like, "Sometimes your shallowness is so thorough, it's almost like depth," and get paid for doing so, I might have to look into it.

Although that Sharon Stone movie was absolutely awful. Eh bien.

I think I should go dust my room now.

Adieu.