06.12.02 - 6:22 p.m.

I'm trying very hard to will myself into not believing I'm sick. This is difficult when I keep snurfing phlegm out of the back of my scratchy throat and going through hot flashes like a 60-year-old, but I will do it. I will be strong.

I want to know what's going on with the apartment. I want to have a plan for this weekend, figure out how much I'm taking there and when, what I need to do next week and whether I'll be able to keep my things in the living room or be forced to store them in a scummy damp basement. If there's one thing I hate, it's basements. They're so creepy and tomblike, even if you re-do them into normal "rooms." And buggy things live down there, and ooky living mold, and it just ruins everything. I lost two pairs of shoes last summer because of a basement.

And I keep thinking it's Thursday. Which is blatantly untrue. I think my skull is overheating.

So I'll play more Mah Jong. Grrreaaaaat idea. Ever since I've been reading the Warhol book, I've found myself mentally speaking Warhol-ese. Like, "Reallly," and "Oh, gee." The book is fun because it's about nothing, just parties and Andy's silliness, but it's exhausting to read because they never stop. Never. It's one party after another and always trying to commission someone's portrait and cozy up to a new person for a sale and blah blah blah. Andy was a jewelry collector (well, he was an everything collector, really) and would buy all these faaaabulous necklaces and gems, but he'd either put them on underneath his clothes so no one could see, or he'd dress up his dachshunds, Archie and Amos, and they'd play on the bed. Oh, Andy!

Apparently when I started here, Evan was "put off" by my attitude because he thought I didn't care. Um, actually, I really DON'T. It's not an act, and you can't care anyway if you're a temp. Which I was. So he didn't think I was going to work out here until he realized that my whole "skeptic, cynical" front was good because I wasn't "carried away by the whole thing." The whole thing being the glamorous movie business, I suppose. I don't know what this really means, but I like to listen in on his conversations, especially when they're about me.

Me me me me. That's all anything is about.