do something interesting or productive instead of reading this
yesterday i did two strange and terrible things.
i had no money and no food. i had a cup of coffee before class, but by 3 in the afternoon i needed solid food. i traded in my pennies at the bank and went jewel to search for cheap but substantial food. as fate would have it, hot dogs were on sale. i thanked whatever spirit watches over me, bought hot dogs, hot dog buns, two packs of ramen, and ran home. i ate four hot dogs in fifteen minutes. after the first two, i knew somewhere in my conscious mind that my stomach was full, but the maniac need to consume i had been suppressing all day drove me to keep on eating. i ate two more around 6.
at 8 steve called me and asked if i wanted to go jogging with him. i had made some insincere promise before i moved downtown that we would jog together in the spring. i agreed. i don't know why, but i blame my penis and whatever masculine competitiveness it causes. we jogged along the lake for roughly one mile. the physical exhaustion broke down any inhibitions and we had a long, bizarre talk about childhood trauma and our polar opposite sexualities. on the walk back i couldn't finish a sentence without coughing. what is really insane is that we are doing it again on wednesday.
i need to start a new painting. i've been working on the portrait of sara for too long. the new painting must be so massive and glorious that it will stand as an gooey, visceral, abstract babel-like affront to god. how i wish.
i had no money and no food. i had a cup of coffee before class, but by 3 in the afternoon i needed solid food. i traded in my pennies at the bank and went jewel to search for cheap but substantial food. as fate would have it, hot dogs were on sale. i thanked whatever spirit watches over me, bought hot dogs, hot dog buns, two packs of ramen, and ran home. i ate four hot dogs in fifteen minutes. after the first two, i knew somewhere in my conscious mind that my stomach was full, but the maniac need to consume i had been suppressing all day drove me to keep on eating. i ate two more around 6.
at 8 steve called me and asked if i wanted to go jogging with him. i had made some insincere promise before i moved downtown that we would jog together in the spring. i agreed. i don't know why, but i blame my penis and whatever masculine competitiveness it causes. we jogged along the lake for roughly one mile. the physical exhaustion broke down any inhibitions and we had a long, bizarre talk about childhood trauma and our polar opposite sexualities. on the walk back i couldn't finish a sentence without coughing. what is really insane is that we are doing it again on wednesday.
i need to start a new painting. i've been working on the portrait of sara for too long. the new painting must be so massive and glorious that it will stand as an gooey, visceral, abstract babel-like affront to god. how i wish.