People only read on airplanes these days.

I am feeling too many things right now.
“is there a window open?”
(No it is cold in March and the heat hasn’t kicked in. On the drive home I noticed black ice on the hill. A small patch. I hit it just right with my brakes anyway- to feel that hiccup of a skid- making sure it was frozen and not a fake still reflection of dark sky.)

But there is sun. It comes back… watered down pulpy O.J. (Like when you get a continental breakfast and its a croissant and some think watery thing that isn’t quite tang but has the aftertaste of a sweet tart.)

I was in the Borders near my house. Most of the books I wanted were gone or shuffled so well that I’d never be able to find my six of diamonds in that mess. The fixtures were for sale. The bottles of syrup from the cafe were for sale. There was a huge sign taped to the register: “NO. WE DON’T KNOW WHEN WE’RE CLOSING.” I was going to make a joke… but didn’t have the energy to be THAT asshole when I saw the cashier’s face (flared nostrils, seven o’clock whimper). I purchased: Octavio Paz, McCarthy, Irving, Edna St. Vincent Millay -stuff like that, discounted.

A good friend is clouding off to Paris tomorrow. For two months. I know a lot of people—- but I really know this person. It makes me feel weird that there will  be an actual void. Like this person is too real and too connected to pass off as a phase or blip in my life. Things have simmered down to core nutrients lately. No, just bulk. It used to be like a full pot with the fat skimmed. I would sit floating. Now I am congealed and holding the sides like a steel blanket that can’t hug back. I don’t know. Work with me here.

I finished Infinite Jest and wrote a review (which is more like: here is my reaction, opinion, feeeeelings) on goodreads.com I can’t muster to talk about this book unless I’m drunk. Usually when that happens it means that I have an insecure connectivity with the emotional undercurrent of something that seems a little to dense to casually mention. Its always like that when I’m drunk. I want to hug a lot and maybe kiss people I know- but remain a little sarcastic and whatnot. It took me a month to read Infinite Jest. I got really mentally tired at points- but I was never bored. Right now I’m reading Eileen Myles and she doesn’t write. She talks. Talka talka talka. Names, names, names.

(The neon post-its are IJ quotes. A newish tradition that I’ve been doing. I then stick them into my book journal)

I had a conversation once with a friend about where our minds go when we get a bit too drunk. His goes towards the apocalypse. I said mine went towards having a good time and loving people. I like to dance and goof. I melt a little: My whole humor gets melty and I want to get close and personal.

I am having so many thoughts about my family and my body and stupid shit. I’m almost positive that if I’m still unemployed during the summer that I’m going to split my week between here and upstate. I can’t take how much I love it here- but how I’m not getting anything done. I’m burnt on socializing and I’m broke. I’m in a fuckton of pain because I have no health insurance and I’m fucking terrified I’m going to end up in the ER as usual. I keep getting up at whatever time I want- making tea, and then going about whatever slant-time tasks that bring me into the next minute.

I meant to go to B&H and get tons of rolls of film – but then I bought books. I keep looking for a job. I’m either overqualified or need a masters. I don’t have connections because I am not a very good networker. I hate knowing people for the sake of knowing them. If I don’t feel a true connection I feel that I won’t be able to give them anything and that’s not fair. I have real issues sharing my life in a friendly/acquaintance based way.

TOON IN FOR NEU SHIT SOON.