Maggie Owens' Journal

I wonder why it is that we can recognize but not just plain cognize.
No wait... yes we can. Just looked it up in the dictionary. We can indeed cognize. I don't think a lot of people do, though. Cognizable is also a word. Fancy that.

Well, now that that's cleared up, I really can't think of any of today's other hurdles. I know I was awake today, and that I did things at great lengths, but I can't remember exactly what they were. Actually, I'm not quite sure how I got back home either. Seems like I've been on autopilot. I hope I didn't kill anyone today.




Maybe I should call Cuddy...

I have lately come to the conclusion that one useless man is called a disgrace, that two is a law firm, and that more is a hospital.

I. want. to. go. home.

Today I went to the supermarket to pick up my munchies (ELFudge cookies, oreos, mountain dew and chips) becauase my niece, who doesnt need the sugar, will be staying over this weekend- and lo and behold, who should I bump into but my ex-mother-in-law.
She looked at me as if she knew who I was and couldn't remember. (Oh please, how long did I know this woman? Not to mention the fact that I was her personal physician whenever she felt like getting a sick day from work.)
"Oh, Maggie," she said, "I didn't recognize you."
She looks down at my cart as if she'd like to imply I've gained weight. Seriously this is how she thinks of me: that good-for-nothing hussy who drove my poor boy to cheat on her. I ask her what she's doing in town.

"Oh, I'm here for the engagement party."

Pardon?

She goes on to explain that my lovely ex-husband has apparently propsed to the twenty-something nurse he'd cheated on me with. So now I really don't know how I'm supposed to go about this. It's a bit depressing, yes. But I would have liked to be invited to the party. Or told about it by someone other than my psychotic weight-watcher ex-mum. Maybe I'll send them a fruit basket saying 'sorry, I can't come to your party, I'm doing something terribly important and am unable to attend. Also I am madly in love with a beautiful man from Italy who wants to take me to Venice. I win."

Or I'll marry Paul McCartney and let him not find out until he sees my on TV. He could write a lovely song called 'Maggie', and take away all that bad wrap us Maggies have been getting from Rod Stewart.

I have come to the conclusion that spaghettios are better cold for the following reasons:
It tastes slightly better.
You can eat it right out of the can.
If you eat it out of the can, you only need to wash the spoon.

So now you all know my eating habits. Spaghettios and ice tea mix make a healthy and nutritious meal for doctors on the go. It is currently two in the morning, I am watching infommercials and all the while typing at four words a minute. It has taken me half an hour to get this far.

Depressing news: Eric Clapton will not be making an appearence in his tour here in good old NJ. We're New Jersey. All we will ever see is Bruce Springsteen. Not complaining, but come on. One cannot live on The Boss alone. Why is Eric stopping in Helsinki and not NJ? Luckily, The Who will be coming by, so maybe I'll go and see them. My childhood 'thing' for Pete Townshend may resurface...

It's bloody hot. I could fry an egg in the driveway, and be too hot to run away when the guy downstairs gets touchy about who's driveway is who's. Obviously, I am extremely uncomfortable and bored, or I wouldn't be relating all of this to you, dear reader, whoever you may be. I know at least three of you are my family. (hi mom)

Ick... this heat is giving me a stomach ache.