(no subject)
Without an alarm clock I find myself waking at more reasonable hours. Learning to cope with the sodium light out my bedside window is not ideal but it is necessary, and every night we come more to terms with each other. Angela and I have a pet spider. Her name is Barbarella and she lives in between the fourth and fifth stairs against the wall of the back deck. Most of the internet agrees that she is a Giant European House Spider, with a distinct but not very memorable genus and a species called gigantis. We feed her ants and pretend to be domesticating her, but I don't think Angela or I would hold any water in that hope. The larger ants and the earwigs raise issues related to dog fighting in my head, and I fear for her underbelly, realizing that the venom sits next to the weakest point of her exoskeleton. Jonny keeps telling us, it's going to suck when he pressure washes the deck. She has a beautiful funnel. With a sharp stick we cleaned out the mess, the cigarette ash and crumbled leaves caught in her walkway. We feared she had left when she didn't come get our catch but the next day, there it was, a gauzy parabolic shape I've seen in textbooks, and the carpenter ant was gone.
Our new roommate is Ben, and he's a writer, and I feel a fraud knowing someone who has done readings and won contests for such things. I feel a fraud regardless, justification set aside, but nevertheless it is stronger and more focused knowing I will live with him. He seems a good person and I like him.
I am filled with joy and buzzing. I went to a member's meeting at Vera and felt so, so, old and creaky, but realized that people laugh when they work, and maybe I should too. My emulation should be redirected.
I hope to see Mike this weekend; it seems he's in Seattle tonight. Julia leaves Seattle on the same day that he does and I can't say at all who I won't see for longer. This is distressing me for obvious reasons.
Has a piece of furniture ever made me this happy? This desk imbues something in me. I look at my underwood and feel like it found its home, after some sort of 70 year hoppings of foster homes. I will rewrite its history. I will xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx over whatever implied vulgarities (on my part of course) my uncle wrote into it when he got it in 1958. Jeez, such wrath. What to do with myself!
Our new roommate is Ben, and he's a writer, and I feel a fraud knowing someone who has done readings and won contests for such things. I feel a fraud regardless, justification set aside, but nevertheless it is stronger and more focused knowing I will live with him. He seems a good person and I like him.
I am filled with joy and buzzing. I went to a member's meeting at Vera and felt so, so, old and creaky, but realized that people laugh when they work, and maybe I should too. My emulation should be redirected.
I hope to see Mike this weekend; it seems he's in Seattle tonight. Julia leaves Seattle on the same day that he does and I can't say at all who I won't see for longer. This is distressing me for obvious reasons.
Has a piece of furniture ever made me this happy? This desk imbues something in me. I look at my underwood and feel like it found its home, after some sort of 70 year hoppings of foster homes. I will rewrite its history. I will xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx over whatever implied vulgarities (on my part of course) my uncle wrote into it when he got it in 1958. Jeez, such wrath. What to do with myself!