Today I read Livejournal for the first time in approx. a hundred million years. I seem to be living more of my life offline than on, which in many ways is nice, but I regret the lack of intouchitude with which it leaves me. That part makes me sad.

What to do about this?

Not as easy as you might think...
( One Word (that's two words!) )

I am very pleased to have made only one drunken error in last night's post. Please read "Bungalow 8" where I wrote "Bungalo 8." I got "whom" right, but the silent "w" was too much for me.

And at Christmas I think there is no one who has a life just like mine, and I do not mind being me, and I am grateful. Grateful that I got home alive, my sister driving, no one sober enough, and walking home in the drizzle in no shoes, and also that my cousin, who wears gold chains that he passes around liberally like pieces of his hidden heart, ( Read more... )

Putting aside a number of ongoing themes, like the difficulty of figuring out what I feel about anything or about things in general, here is something of which I am quite sure ( Read more... )

Awright, kids. Here is a recap of the principal occupation of my absence ( Read more... )

Dear Friends,

Please accept my apologies for my lapses in Livejournal-my computer has had some sort of spasmic illness and the hard drive is dead. It is in the shop for data retrieval. If I lose the drafts of my thesis, I will cry. Wish me luck.

Love to all.

And now that it is, or is about to be, time to leave, time to haul my toobig suitcases out onto the landing, I am not at all sure. I am afraid. The sun is going down. I am sure I have forgotten something-what is in the almost-bare apartment that should not be, for which I can find a place not here? Where do I put the things, all the things, the ( Read more... )

In various states of hunger, irritation, and packedness, Megan and I are sitting side-by-side on the couch, surrounded by boxes, the door blocked by an upended table. I am counting down hours. The sun is shining. Soon I will call Leah to brag about being packed a full twenty-four hours before departure, but for now, this is fine.

And suddenly the things cohere. There is almost a palpable hiss. The people I don't know or do know or sort of know troop into my apartment and out of it, leaving five-dollar bills and ten-dollar bills and taking away blender, mirror, free weights, laundry basket. I blow the money on a balmy evening in the Pied Cow's garden with Kate and Chalcey ( Read more... )