My Chihuahua Smells Like A Graham Cracker.
Went to Jenna's 21st Birthday run last night. Gave her a growler of Harmon's The Heart of Darkness. Lots of fun. Met a lot of new people. Mostly talked to another odd-man-out named Gareth a lot. I bought him a beer. Didn't make it much farther than The Irish Emigrant and Earl's. I had a blue drink called an Adios, Motherfucker. Played darts with Mike Music and once again found myself on the steps of Jimmy John's not so much drunk-dialing, as much as wanting a conversation with two people.
Made it to Meera's and Jocelyn's apartment fell asleep on the floor. Couldn't sleep. Read a part of House of Leaves and had a nightmare that left me with a good power nap. Parking tickets are getting more expensive in Seattle. Drove home smelling like cigarettes, beer, and that overall urinal-cake fragrance of Earl's. Still coughing. I made a promise to myself to take better care of myself. Began today by eating two tomatoes and a Diet Coke. The right track. Watched movies. Read Batman comics. Played with Polly. Not adjusting to crate-training well. But I knew that about pembroke corgis.
I don't like my job and tomorrow, I'm going to Spherion to see if I can make more than I do. The union really hammer-punched the Charlie Browns of my last paycheck. And the filing isn't so plentiful, so I'm slicing more and more, and because I'm new, I mostly work the equivalent of a janitorial shift. I can see myself slowly becoming a vegetarian at this rate. Seriously.
I'm thinking a lot about Las Vegas with Sarah. When Kate comes to see me. I also think a lot about Rome. I'm thinking of joining to Dante Aligheri Society to up my vocabularly of brutish slang to conversational Italian in late September. I want to use all my money to travel. Thought about the unlimited pass of Greyhound in the month of October with Allen. But when you're a man of big dreams and big talk and your friend is the same way, it's still just a pipe dream.
I wrote something, like really wrote something for the first time in months. There was a poem that was a list of things they'd like to do before they died. I read the phrase summer storm in the work and it stuck. I appear to be writing it backwards. Ending. Beginning. No middle.
Time keeps passing strangely. One month you're in the desert and mesa. Another you're naming kids and discussing engagement seriously. Then one day you buy a ticket to Las Vegas. Pretty soon you might be trying to secretly hunt down some remaining trace of lineage.
Be damned if I enjoy this whole...zero obligation thing.
Made it to Meera's and Jocelyn's apartment fell asleep on the floor. Couldn't sleep. Read a part of House of Leaves and had a nightmare that left me with a good power nap. Parking tickets are getting more expensive in Seattle. Drove home smelling like cigarettes, beer, and that overall urinal-cake fragrance of Earl's. Still coughing. I made a promise to myself to take better care of myself. Began today by eating two tomatoes and a Diet Coke. The right track. Watched movies. Read Batman comics. Played with Polly. Not adjusting to crate-training well. But I knew that about pembroke corgis.
I don't like my job and tomorrow, I'm going to Spherion to see if I can make more than I do. The union really hammer-punched the Charlie Browns of my last paycheck. And the filing isn't so plentiful, so I'm slicing more and more, and because I'm new, I mostly work the equivalent of a janitorial shift. I can see myself slowly becoming a vegetarian at this rate. Seriously.
I'm thinking a lot about Las Vegas with Sarah. When Kate comes to see me. I also think a lot about Rome. I'm thinking of joining to Dante Aligheri Society to up my vocabularly of brutish slang to conversational Italian in late September. I want to use all my money to travel. Thought about the unlimited pass of Greyhound in the month of October with Allen. But when you're a man of big dreams and big talk and your friend is the same way, it's still just a pipe dream.
I wrote something, like really wrote something for the first time in months. There was a poem that was a list of things they'd like to do before they died. I read the phrase summer storm in the work and it stuck. I appear to be writing it backwards. Ending. Beginning. No middle.
Time keeps passing strangely. One month you're in the desert and mesa. Another you're naming kids and discussing engagement seriously. Then one day you buy a ticket to Las Vegas. Pretty soon you might be trying to secretly hunt down some remaining trace of lineage.
Be damned if I enjoy this whole...zero obligation thing.