(no subject)
i want more work to do.
i never thought i would say that but honestly, i think it would be good for me. it would distract me from other things.
there is a half finished cigarette in my tin can ash tray and a lit cigarette in my hand. i bought a carton of camels the other day and then i decided last night that i need to cut down. racquetball with kathleen and running not even a mile felt so good i want to be able to do it without my lungs shaking. but realistically, its not going to happen. i'm so positive.
liz and jim and i jump-started jim's '88 bmw at 3:15 yesterday afternoon and drove through the country without any sense of time or direction. we ended up in des moines and i saw the dragon in altoona and tried to add up how many hours, days, weeks of my life have been spent on that stretch of i-80 between lincoln and iowa city.
a month, maybe.
the velveteen rabbit met last night for the first time. we smoked whatever we had left and read sylvia plath and e.e. cummings to each other. my voice echoed in my room and i thought about death and lost causes. i thought about wastes of time and self-evolution. about rock and police investigations and forced resignations and what my life has boiled down to this semester. my mom called me last night to remind me to take my medicine. i forgot to do it last night. and i surprised both of us when i straight out told her that she couldnt come see me that weekend because i might have other plans. might. probably not. becuase i dont want to do anything anymore, because i dont think i deserve to do anything anymore.
modest mouse is in a week and i keep looking at my calendar. there are so many numbers on it, counting days, and little red dots that i have learned to forget about and still more numbers that i hate looking at because they are just not the right number. not the right number. i hate math, and yet i live my life based on numbers. never quite good enough.
but kathleen and i ran around with racquets and goggles for an hour and talked about cake (the band) and alcohol on mac field when the sun is out and i thought to myself, "by then i will be a better person". i know what i mean by better. right now i am horrible.
but by april 29th i will be better. by the time cake takes the outdoor stage and i start dancing with a cigarette in my right hand on a friday afternoon i will be better, and i know i will be thinking of [you] and hoping to see you and hoping to make you think the thoughts i want you to have of me.
i will be better by march 19th, when i again drive that stretch of i-80 home to avoid my parents and crash on a counch at 49th and judson for two days until i fly to dayton and then drive the east coast with liz, no destination in mind, just dreams of new york city, boston, philly, baltimore, connecticut, little money in our pockets, cheap diners and laundromats and drugs.
i will be better by then.
73 and 31, respectively.
i am running out of time.
i cant keep letting the days slip by, wasted.