2002-10-25 6:27 p.m.

As best as I can remember, nine years ago today my first boyfriend broke up with me for the first time. I'm filling up my day with fuck-you�tinged decadence. So far decadence is coming just in tiny pieces here & there: sitting on top of the bed, wrapped up in quilts & cats, reading David Copperfield until Mischka came over to borrow bean's sewing machine. Then: watching Mischka sew standing, leaning over the little light of the machine: & the delicate, weird joy of seeing someone I've known so well, so long, doing something I've never seen him do before: & the nonchalant attention to detail.

I've been listening to loud music at loud volumes. I've been polishing the last bits of some poems, I've been making great sweeping moves through others. I've been debating all day whether i should go to Jason's shindig tonight. I've been debating whether i should dress up for the occasion, if I decide to go.

Basically of course I never go much of anywhere.

Outside the rain is coming down in straight strings at right angles to the street. It is dark already & oh yes I had two kinds of chamomile tea at once in the same pretty cup, with soymilk + honey.

It's hard to work up the desire to go out when an evening of promised-land-style tea & poeming & Dickens is just so inviting, decadent in that low-key way. I find myself wishing for another bottle of crayola-red to put in my hair, another slight fuck-you twinge. I like the smell of all the dust burning up in the ductwork, when the heat comes on again.