It is shortly after 11 am on Monday morning, and I have yet to accomplish anything more strenuous than making a pot of coffee. I am creating my own art form, I think: a delicate ballet wherein I spin my way between various websites, deftly hiding my email behind official-looking documents with a single, efficient click of the mouse, and then just as adeptly, pulling windows full of diaries, wacky news, and prices on a new PowerBook to the forefront, creating a pastiche of time-wasting electronica in but a moment.
Not to be underestimated: the value of reading all these random news stories. I recently learned, for example, that drinking seven cups of coffee a day reduces one's risk of developing diabetes by 50%. Yes, seven cups a day. I am assuming that one could also drink 3.5 cups of coffee and reduce the chance of diabetes by 25%, but I have no concrete evidence to back this up. As such, I am doing my best to drink my way to healthy blood sugar: I am already on my third cup. In reality, this probably has less to do with my desire to stave off diabetes (although I know some very nice diabetics) than it has to do with the fact that I am hoping the caffeine will keep my mood artificially elevated enough to counteract the lack of cigarettes in my life right now.
(Yes, once again, I am playing the "How long can I go without food" game, while I wait for my paycheck. Friday, Friday, Friday: I can eat on Friday.)
That reminds me: I wonder when my girl scout cookies will arrive -- I bet I could survive on ten boxes of Thin Mints for...oh, at least an hour. If I rationed them very strictly, perhaps an hour and a half.