le singe est sur la branche
Feeling bored and inert, an odd combination though not an unusual one for yours truly. So I come here. Sigh. I'm predicting that what follows will be both rambling and filled with tedious minutae. You've been warned.
Ben arrived the other day for a four-day visit while he awaits departure to a family vacation in Maine. That's great and all, but I seem to regress into a vegetable state when old friends return to Philly. I was a much different person back then -- awkward, quiet, and, of course, pretentious. Not that I've improved leaps and bounds or anything, but I've grown some confidence since they all left -- a repugnant sentiment, to be sure, but sadly true.
I also don't appear to be in a writing vein tonight. Rep this week so far blows intimidating, mightily-endowed goats, and I have not the energy to do anything about it. It's been a weird day. Woke up after a mere five hours of sleep to write an A-List due in Liz's mailbox 70 minutes later and, after a couple minutes spent watching Eddie Izzard's Dress to Kill, I was pumped. Banged out a somewhat incoherent but passably nutty article with fifteen minutes to spare. I was similarly wired for hours still, time which I used not to write rep, but to make a friggin' mix CD. (Which turned out to be a true downer. I was going for that, but still.) Now, I'm dead, anti-social and slow. Fuckin' cigarettes (he types as he takes another drag).
Tomorrow will be better.
Oh, oh, oh. This sunday, I was to see Punch-Drunk Love -- and maybe Bowling for Columbine with the great Katie Haegele, on whom I have what appears to be a crush. I got a call around noon-ish that she couldn't make it because she had an article to write. We then proceeded to talk till 6pm. It's strange having a girl I like -- or anyone, really -- be interested in me and our talk rarely seemed to flag in energy or substance. I now realize, having typed that, that my reaction to this is so high school, but, um...I don't care. She's supposed to call me back this week but it is an hour to Friday and no call. Still, I'm not fazed. Good or bad?
I told Paul that I'm sick of the concept of "hanging out." I think it has to do with my recent bout with agoraphobia, as well as the relatively new acquisition of cable television. I want to be doing things, going places, experiencing new delights or non-delights. (I also let slip something to the effect that "hanging out with the same people bores me because I know everything about everyone already. Again, good or bad?)
Once again, I am making the pledge to cut back on smoking tomorrow. Once again, I may break that pretty early on.
Okay, that's enough. Off to bed, I think.
Ben arrived the other day for a four-day visit while he awaits departure to a family vacation in Maine. That's great and all, but I seem to regress into a vegetable state when old friends return to Philly. I was a much different person back then -- awkward, quiet, and, of course, pretentious. Not that I've improved leaps and bounds or anything, but I've grown some confidence since they all left -- a repugnant sentiment, to be sure, but sadly true.
I also don't appear to be in a writing vein tonight. Rep this week so far blows intimidating, mightily-endowed goats, and I have not the energy to do anything about it. It's been a weird day. Woke up after a mere five hours of sleep to write an A-List due in Liz's mailbox 70 minutes later and, after a couple minutes spent watching Eddie Izzard's Dress to Kill, I was pumped. Banged out a somewhat incoherent but passably nutty article with fifteen minutes to spare. I was similarly wired for hours still, time which I used not to write rep, but to make a friggin' mix CD. (Which turned out to be a true downer. I was going for that, but still.) Now, I'm dead, anti-social and slow. Fuckin' cigarettes (he types as he takes another drag).
Tomorrow will be better.
Oh, oh, oh. This sunday, I was to see Punch-Drunk Love -- and maybe Bowling for Columbine with the great Katie Haegele, on whom I have what appears to be a crush. I got a call around noon-ish that she couldn't make it because she had an article to write. We then proceeded to talk till 6pm. It's strange having a girl I like -- or anyone, really -- be interested in me and our talk rarely seemed to flag in energy or substance. I now realize, having typed that, that my reaction to this is so high school, but, um...I don't care. She's supposed to call me back this week but it is an hour to Friday and no call. Still, I'm not fazed. Good or bad?
I told Paul that I'm sick of the concept of "hanging out." I think it has to do with my recent bout with agoraphobia, as well as the relatively new acquisition of cable television. I want to be doing things, going places, experiencing new delights or non-delights. (I also let slip something to the effect that "hanging out with the same people bores me because I know everything about everyone already. Again, good or bad?)
Once again, I am making the pledge to cut back on smoking tomorrow. Once again, I may break that pretty early on.
Okay, that's enough. Off to bed, I think.