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I woke this morning with spins and not nearly enough sleep, but somehow felt alright.
I didn't take a shower, I didn't eat breakfast, I did ride my bike up Garden, I did pay a $1.25 for coffee, and smoked a cigarette while walking to the art building. Hell, I may have smoked two cigarettes.
I thought today would be worse. I thought somehow I would be removed from the rest of everything, of everyone, of the laughs and complaints, smoke breaks every hour, but no, not really. Plenty of new music today, yesterday, the day before; The National, Tunng, Andrew Bird (god, he is good), and about five other albums from Justin. I smiled and sang a little on my way to Red Square, cd player functioning properly today. I thought about watching that video about Hitler's Degenerate Art Show, but I didn't have the worksheet.
It felt good to ride home, the hill's inverse leading me this time, the best Andrew Bird song pushing me with strings that sound foreign from far east somehow, leaving me to steep in my optimism- my drifting where this ebbing tide will push me because I am just as lost just as broken as the rest but still grasping for the surface.
Now I feel foolish.
I don't know. I finally put polaroids in that German medical journal (I think that is what it is) with black and silver corners, of bike rides, friends, cigarettes, feet, new year's, and parbolic mirrors.
It's nice to get around to doing something.
It's weird to wander on here and wonder if things would be different had I checked around, kept up to date.
It's as blank as the wall isn't white- maybe I should rip off all my posters, or at least arrange them like this isn't chaos.
It kind of is though.
It is kind of strange how the second hand on that new clock ticks louder than it used to.
Just fucking hold on, I guess.
Just stop reading everything in desk drawers, in green, on yellow.
Or, don't.
No, I can't keep from looking, from thinking in past tense today, or from still feeling shocked and awkward
two days later. Three because I count the first but didn't break the glass after I started doing dishes.
I'm still here.
I didn't take a shower, I didn't eat breakfast, I did ride my bike up Garden, I did pay a $1.25 for coffee, and smoked a cigarette while walking to the art building. Hell, I may have smoked two cigarettes.
I thought today would be worse. I thought somehow I would be removed from the rest of everything, of everyone, of the laughs and complaints, smoke breaks every hour, but no, not really. Plenty of new music today, yesterday, the day before; The National, Tunng, Andrew Bird (god, he is good), and about five other albums from Justin. I smiled and sang a little on my way to Red Square, cd player functioning properly today. I thought about watching that video about Hitler's Degenerate Art Show, but I didn't have the worksheet.
It felt good to ride home, the hill's inverse leading me this time, the best Andrew Bird song pushing me with strings that sound foreign from far east somehow, leaving me to steep in my optimism- my drifting where this ebbing tide will push me because I am just as lost just as broken as the rest but still grasping for the surface.
Now I feel foolish.
I don't know. I finally put polaroids in that German medical journal (I think that is what it is) with black and silver corners, of bike rides, friends, cigarettes, feet, new year's, and parbolic mirrors.
It's nice to get around to doing something.
It's weird to wander on here and wonder if things would be different had I checked around, kept up to date.
It's as blank as the wall isn't white- maybe I should rip off all my posters, or at least arrange them like this isn't chaos.
It kind of is though.
It is kind of strange how the second hand on that new clock ticks louder than it used to.
Just fucking hold on, I guess.
Just stop reading everything in desk drawers, in green, on yellow.
Or, don't.
No, I can't keep from looking, from thinking in past tense today, or from still feeling shocked and awkward
two days later. Three because I count the first but didn't break the glass after I started doing dishes.
I'm still here.