today the sentence that plays over + over in my head is this one:
if i am going to feel like this i should at least get something out of itwhat do i get instead? i walk bean's problematic laptop over to mischka's. nothing gets done. i bitch a while at chris. my eyes are bleary.
i walk home through the alley: there is always a fat security guard & he always says hello. i guess he is bored standing in the alley when there are no drunks there. it is nice for him, standing outside, that it is still so warm. this can't be december. i talk about living south.
& nothing gets done.
& what will i do? on thursday at least i will buy some wood & bean will let me use her power tools. if i can build the right things.
on the phone, i say to my brother: if i knew how to play guitar everything would be better. this is untrue & i know it when i say it. but it is a thing to say & i like the sound of it. i like to think of myself like that like i like to think of myself with power tools & wood.
on saturday we saw matt's paintings & they were so much like the paintings in my head that now i feel a little lost.
i will buy this wood & everything will be okay.
& i will stop listening to this music. i am not the indie kid my cd player has been telling me to be. it's time to break out the mix tapes i made at kenyon, with laurie anderson & depeche mode &, i don't know, assemblage23.
sobreabundo en gozo en medio de mis tribulaciones
