It went pretty well last night. A whole group of us went to see Pan’s Labyrinth. I enjoyed it, but thought it mostly forgettable. Foreign films seem less invested in the dictate that the Americans’ are brainwashed to hold: The Audience Must Be Defined and Entertained. So, I thought it was a little slow, a little grotesque, a little over-the-top, but it didn’t stop me from enjoying it. It was acted well enough. I’m just struggling to find incomparables and I’m coming up short. Maybe some will come later.

Didn’t have a chance to read yesterday. Still am getting adjusted to the new MS Office. I also downloaded Quicken 2007. I will remain in charge of my money! I swear it. It is my project to become totally organized in 2007. It’s a lofty goal, but I’m going to try to chronicle the foibles as they transpire. I’ve read and/or bought so many time management and organizing books over the last year that I am just stuffed with organizing witticisms. I also know this is easy fodder for my own noonday demon. Perfection does whore with depression. I sometimes think of perfectionism, procrastination, and depression as guilty fuck-buddies. For example, I told myself that I wouldn’t go to the gym until I got myself in order: meal plans, set up a schedule, etc. The idea was to begin only when I’m REALLY ready, so that I don’t let the bodybuilding commitment become a ruse to avoid doing the housework that seemed to fall behind in the past. Case in point: my good friend N– has one of the best workout routines and a very nice body, but his house: A DISASTER. I love him dearly, but I stand by that attribution. He also has one of the tightest schedules I know. So, my depression, who for the purposes of my story I’ll name Monty, pointed out that I couldn’t bear his schedule and his house, ergo don’t do any athletic work until you have completely planned for it. The practical result has been never to go. The lack of balance that perfectionism adjures is quite astounding once you get a longer look at it. I can see why Monty would resort to it.

Speaking of depression, I did have a relatively good time with my old friend last night. I forgot to use a line that I’ve been using on myself: Since you really only get this life to get what you want, when are you going to start claiming your life—your time—for yourself? Do you really think yourself worth so little as to abdicate securing some happiness for yourself? (Please note: The sentiment here is meant to entice my utterly prideful, royal persona.) She’s in a pretty dark place right now and has been for some time. I miss the woman whose sharp wit could be paradoxically conveyed so kindly. She seems so tired and deflated. I also wanted to ask her if she was really strong enough to take on her bf’s depression in addition to her own. Perhaps, her answer would have been the same as it was when I questioned her choices in helping bf, “What choice do I have?” Of course, if one can cut out gods that are viewed to be unhelpful (which she has done), why not cut out bf’s that aren’t helpful either?