the rest are here. make a little birdhouse in your soul, okay? [ 31.7.04] · [ ]
(cobble hill, brooklyn. I was quite fascinated by the sculpturesque quality of her eyelashes.) [ 29.7.04] · [ ]
this summer is slipping away like lentils through amelie's fingers. or something. my birthday always means that summer is just more than halfway over, and my birthday is one week from today. I was a little shocked when I looked at the calendar this morning and realized that this is already the fifty-second week of my twenty-third year -- yes, I did that math right; you turn one year old at the end of your first year, do you not? -- when I'd thought there was at least half a month to go. not that finding myself at the end of july is a tragedy, exactly. it's been a good july, and the stack of textbooks, syllabi, articles, reflective essays, and curriculum analyses on my coffee table is some proof that it has not been an idle july. still, between school and housekeeping and my social obligations to certain special dogs and people, my list of summer projects has gone wholly neglected. if I find myself back in school in september without having unpacked the mess in my closet, read a single novel, ridden a rollercoaster, or visted moma before it moves back to manhattan, well, I suspect that neither I nor my students will be very happy. (I'm not even thinking about my first-year teaching portfolio, the halfway-there culmination of my master's degree, which is due the first week in september.) here is what I want for my birthday, by the way: 1. to be in manhattan, amidst the skyscrapers 2. hugs and kisses 3. to know that I am loved 4. chocolate 5. to wake up in the morning after a night of good dreams I am either very easy or very difficult to please, but I'm not sure which.
[ 28.7.04] · [ ]
so, uh, what do you think they serve in a manly restaurant? [ 26.7.04] · [ ]
it completely squicks me out when people treat their animal-pets like children. dogs that have eighteen different outfits and go to the spa on weekends and have halloween parties do not make any sense to me. lucie is a dog -- though I have sometimes been known to call her "baby girl," as in "lucie baby girl, get that nasty kibble-kong off my rug" -- and one needs only to smell her after she has been splashing around in the flotsam-filled puddles left behind by the week's rainstorms to be sure of her dogginess. I fell into bed last night, or rather this morning, at 5:08, when the sky was already hinting blue. lucie was already curled up on top of the sheets, which is now a permissible luxury as long as she doesn't climb up without asking. (she still gets a little greedy sometimes, like when she wants to be the sandwich filling between two people, or when the bed alone is not good enough and she thinks she needs to sleep on top of the pillows.) I had been asleep for about thirty seconds when she daintily rose, stepped over my legs, hopped onto the rug, and proceeded to throw up a gooey yellow glob of bile. she was still standing there afterwards, making an awful guttural retching sound, but I herded her out of the bedroom and into the living room, where she proceeded to vomit three more times on various parts of the striped rug. I thought I would be angry, or at least annoyed that after a long sleepless night I was suddenly stuck cleaning warm dog-stomach-glop off my floor. but as I scrubbed with one hand and stroked the muzzle of my consternated beast with the other, I couldn't help but think: if I can love a puking dog, I'm sure I can love a puking baby, too.
[ 23.7.04] · [ ]
I love the park at sunset, when the birds and butterflies and babies all seem to disappear into the evening haze to make way for the creatures of the twilight. between the trees in the ravine, or coming up the hill from the nethermead, the colors have all dissolved into that smoky bluegreen murk that disguises all the world's edges. the only things you can see for absolute certain are the blinking fireflies hovering thick around your ankles and the fluttering bats sillhouetted against the sky overhead. lucie and I watched a racoon climb a tree beside the pools tonight. at first I thought it was an extremely fat cat that had escaped from a nearby apartment, but when it spiraled around the treetrunk, its facemask and ringed tail gave it away. I don't think I've ever seen an animal move so deliberately and slowly up a tree before. she -- why I am so sure it was a she is beyond me, but I'm sure -- went around and around, barely gaining any vertical distance with each traversal of the trunk's circumference, and every time she came around the far curve she stopped, held still, and regarded us without fear. when lucie sees a squirrel, she bounces straight up into the air, and sometimes she barks her most high-pitched yippy bark. when she sees a rabbit, she tries to chase it, and when I call her off she looks back at me reproachfully, like can't you see this is in my blood? but she sat like a statue watching that raccoon, inching her gaze higher as slowly as the raccoon slid herself up against gravity.
[ 20.7.04] · [ ]
these are our evil eyes. [ 19.7.04] · [ ]
"don't fall asleep while I'm kissing you, okay?"
I made a why not? face that was probably unreadable at such close range.
"I don't think it would be very good for my ego..."
I don't think in words, I think in thoughts, and then my thoughts went something like this --
I've always said that my favorite part of being drunk is the first moment when I start to sober up. everything is still all swirly and enchanting, but if intoxication is like tumbling about under a rush of crashing waves, then that first move towards sobriety is like the second you emerge at the sunlit surface and start floating. you are lighter, invisibly finned and winged, and the world in wide-angle is a blur while the small bits in macro-focus are imbued with more clarity than would ever fit on a webpage, or an unabridged encyclopedia. you look at the champagne flute you're holding and it's as if you know the exact equation that describes the curve of the glass, the precise angle at which the light is hitting it to make that perfect glint along the edge, and all the ways it might be circumscribed by poetry.
at least, that's how it is for me.
and falling asleep, which I usually do only when I am truly exhausted, is the same way: when my mind is finally too spent to try and focus on everything, the simple essence of a single something fills my consciousness, melting into all my corners and washing me away. what could be better, in my last glimmers of awareness, than the tender thrum of our synchronized heartbeats held between my lips?
-- but I was too tired to explain all this with any sort of eloquence, so instead I mumbled something about how it was nice to be read to, and nicer to be kissed. I don't remember exactly when I fell asleep, but I'm sure I didn't make any promises beforehand.
[ 17.7.04] · [ ]
brooklyn is so disturbingly trendy.
if you ever see me wearing my borough like a brand name, please slap me. [ 16.7.04] · [ ]
I had seen the woman walking towards us, and though her trajectory seemed too deliberate to ignore, I did it anyway. lucie was busily performing tricks for me at my feet, and I didn't want to lose her focus. besides, we weren't bothering anyone, right? just a little stick-fetch and long-range obedience practice. I was kneeling in the grass, encouraging lucie to crawl towards me (and the treat between my fingers) commando-style, when the woman stopped next to us and shook the contents of her drink bottle over the top of my head. I don't know what was in it, and I don't want to know. I sat back on my heels, gave lucie a silent stay command, and looked up. "hi?" she had a pronounced underbite, and her lower lip curled so far forward that it appeared to be her only lip, stuck in a perpetual angry pout. she looked down at me without moving her head, so that her gaze slid right down the bridge of her nose. "I like things that are white." her tone was unmistakably threatening, but I didn't understand what she meant. things that are white? like my skin? like the fur between lucie's spots? "I'm sorry, I don't understand. what?" "I like. things. that are WHITE." "like your t-shirt." "yes," she said, not like yes, I'm glad you understand me but like yes you scummy little moron. the words made no sense, but the rest of her message was clear enough. "do you want us to leave?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "that would be nice," she said, voice thick with disdain, as if she couldn't believe it had taken me so long to figure it out. "okay," I chirped, falsely cheerful, "come on lucie. let's go." we walked away without looking back. I told myself that she was clearly crazy, and it would have been pointless to try and stand up for myself or even ask for an explanation of why we were unwelcome. I told myself that was why we left without a fight, why I acquiesced without even looking her in the eyes. but I think if that were true, I would have simply found another spot in the grass to play. instead, I cried as we left the park.
[ 15.7.04] · [ ]
due to what I can only imagine was a serious lack of imagination and communication on the part of the public school department, I studied american history three times in the six years of my secondary education. seventh grade social studies seemed mostly concerned with maps and the asian continent; ninth grade was modern world history, which would seem then to not truly be history; and in twelfth grade, I took psychobiology instead.
as a result, I've never actually studied european history, and everything I know about the french revolution comes from a tale of two cities, which we read in eighth grade and remains the only dickens I've ever truly adored. and guillotines always make me think of hapless little carrots about to lose their tops on the chopping block.
bastille day brooklyn-style did nothing to enlighten me. (of course, brooklyn is possibly the least authentically french place on the east coast, so I don't know why that's surprising.) this guillotine was presiding over the only streetcorner in sight that was still a blacktop. nearby, a lot of people were eating a lot of french fries and mussels. there were red plastic baskets filled to overflowing with shiny empty mussel shells, and the sidewalk was decorated with a mosaic of broken crustacean bits. no one was touching the guillotine.
everywhere else was covered in sand:
since I don't know anything about european history, I also couldn't tell you how petanque is any different from bocce, except that the balls seem smaller and shinier. but really, any holiday that involves turning a busy city street into a giant sandbox has to be worthwhile, right?
now go eat some french fries. or carrots. [ 14.7.04] · [ ]
for the first time all month, and I mean for the first second in july including the middle of the night and the times when I wasn't here all day long, the kitchen ceiling fan is OFF. this is a relief not just because it means the air is not so warm anymore -- it hasn't been swelteringly hot in new york yet this summer, but on the other side of my ceiling is the sun-dried roof -- but because watching the fan spin around is sort of like watching dollars run away from my bank account into the con ed coffers. now that it's cold and damp, it suddenly feels like last summer again, which I remember (inaccurately, I know) as existing in binary: 0 = miserably hot and humid; 1 = miserably chilled and drizzly. there were whole weeks when I slept in my hooded purple fleece, if, of course, I slept at all, between going to seventh grade and going to graduate school and doing my homework and mourning my untimely graduation and trying not to succumb to the constantly rising tide of anxiety over my impending teacherdom. this summer is actually nothing like last summer, except that I still have graduate school and homework. I now have a steady paycheck and much less money, I live alone but I'm no longer lonely, I'm on vacation and remembering what it's like to look forward to september, and even though I'm no longer immersed in astronomy, after a year of living in this light-polluted city I am starting to feel closer to the stars. in three weeks I'll be twenty-three years old, and it'll be the last time I'm turning a prime-number age until 2010. how shall I celebrate?
[ 13.7.04] · [ ]
1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 12. that is clearly NOT every day, and since only two of those missing numbers (3, 6) can be blamed on blogger, that makes me a liar. I am no longer a terrible liar. in fact, though I am somewhat reluctant to admit it, I am a damn good liar when I need to be. it's a skill equally necessary for concealing phyiscal pain and for maintaining authority in front of thirty-something teenagers, and I no longer go crimson when I say something untrue. I don't even blink. in spite of that, I don't like being a liar. everyone is an unreliable narrator, and storytelling is an unreliable medium. but I am not, for the most part, an unreliable person. so, for real: every day. something. maybe I need to get over the idea that everything has to be interesting. or maybe I need to get over the idea that I have to get an A+ on every paper I turn in this summer, since that's where most of my writing time has been going. it's not that I care so much about the grades themselves -- and an A+ is the same as an A, is it not? gpa-wise, at least -- but after swarthmore, this is such a novelty that I almost can't help myself. it's like eating cotton candy. also, I don't know what the hell you guys think you're doing with my comments, but please be nice to each other or I'll take them away.
[ 12.7.04] · [ ]
the letter I sent to lucie's trainer at the shelter where she lived for eight months
dear mike,
I know you see a lot of dogs, so I don't know if you remember lucie. she's a pretty memorable dog, not least because of all her spots! it's been ten months since I adopted her, and probably eight months since the last time I talked to you about her. I didn't know what was going to happen to her then, because she had worn out her welcome with my roommate after biting her one time too many. I told you that I would make sure lucie woudln't be euthanized, and that I still thought she was a dog worth saving -- but to be honest, at that point, those were two of the only things I felt sure about. I didn't know if she would ever get over her separation anxiety, or if she would stop being fear aggressive. and most of all I didn't know if I would get to keep lucie long enough to find out.
since then, lucie has spent a lot of time living with my family while I sorted out how I could keep her. she went to obedience classes, and when they realized how well-trained she really is, she was promoted -- twice! last month, she even passed her canine good citizenship test.
now lucie is back in brooklyn with me. she's grown up a lot -- she's not quite as wiry as she was when she was just a year old. her strong thick neck makes her look even more like one of her dingo ancestors.
lucie has not, however, outgrown her boundless energy! she can run or swim -- she even dives underwater -- for hours. she really loves to play with other dogs now, too, although introductions can be rocky sometimes. she is a little bit shy with certain dogs, while other times she goes on the defensive with her hackles up. but she responds very well to commands and will happily heel right past another dog on the sidewalk. I am still working on conditioning her to be friendly with all dogs, and in the meantime she has made lots of canine friends. she especially likes puppies. there's a saint bernard pup named mocha that we often see in the park, and they love to squirm around in the grass together.
walking her in the park is a lot of fun because lucie loves to show off her tricks. she is (almost always!) great at following basic hand signal commands at a long distance. the kids in the park think it is incredibly funny when they see this spotted dog sitting all by herself in the middle of the field, and suddenly she lies down, stands up, and sprints off like a racehorse across the grass! lucie is clicker-trained now, which is great for teaching her new things. yesterday we found an abandoned hula hoop lying in the meadow, and before long lucie was jumping through it like a circus lion. she really loves to jump.
inside, it can still be a challenge to keep lucie entertained. she has gotten to be quite an expert at the buster cube. you were right about her and treats -- she thinks food is the most interesting thing ever. I can stuff her kong full of all kinds of things and she will run around the apartment tossing it around until every last morsel has come tumbling out.
but not all of her toys are food-related. she likes to play soccer with her giant tennis ball. if I stand in the kitchen and throw it into the bedroom, she will run after it and "dribble" it all the way back to me with her nose. she has a little hot wheels car that she drives around the floor (she likes to watch it go zipping by on a racetrack too). and of course, since she is such a mouth-oriented dog, she is extremely good at tug-of-war. she will play with a rope, a ball, a stick, or anything else you can think of. it might seem like encouraging this kind of snarly, fighting behavior is bad for her, but we've learned how to use it as an outlet rather than an out-of-control-let. now, even when lucie is growling and pulling her hardest, as soon as you tell her to "drop it!" she lets go of her end and sits back like a very polite little dog.
her newest trick for staying cool in the summer is bobbing for ice cubes. a big bowl full of water and ice cubes is almost as enticing as a nice squirrel on a tree. (she is not allowed to chase the squirrels in new york city!) she grabs the ice cubes out of the water with her front teeth and then gnaws them into nice slithery slivers, which she chases around the floor.
since she has such good balance, I am also teaching her how to dance. but we just started that a few days ago, so I don't know yet if she is better suited to waltzing or swing dancing.
of course, she isn't always running around like a maniac. she likes to hang out on the floor by my feet, or on a rug, or even in her crate. even though I see her in it every day, I can't help but be amazed when I remember how much we used to struggle and fight over it! the only time lucie ever bit me was one night when I told her to kennel up for bed. but now the crate is truly her own haven (not to mention breakfast nook).
we no longer need the crate, though -- lucie is perfectly trustworthy in the apartment by herself. (well, I wouldn't leave her out if I thought a stranger might come in when I wasn't here. she is still quite protective of her territory and her humans.) sometimes she still likes to bring me things she's not supposed to have, to let me know that she needs some attention -- last night she very carefully picked up both my barettes from the coffee table and delicately deposited them in my lap. but she doesn't chew things up or try to dig through the rug anymore, so all my socks and towels and floor decorations are safe. (if thoroughly covered in short black and white cattle dog hair!)
she doesn't even attempt to jump up on the couch or the bed without an invitation. once in a while she gets to come into bed for a cuddle, but she is quite content on the floor. one of the best ways to tell when lucie likes someone new is that she will quietly move over to where that person is sitting, and then lie down with her head resting on the visitor's arm or foot.
sometimes she seems downright zenlike. it can be hard to believe that this is the same dog who used to fling herself five feet straight up in the air every time she saw a cat. believe it or not, lucie likes cats now! I know everyone used to think that if she was left alone with a cat, she would catch it and rip it to pieces. now, though, she has lived with two of them (including a kitten that was her best playmate for a while) and has proven herself to be an excellent canine embassador to the feline realm. when we took her to a friend's house on the fourth of july, she met a bold cat named monkey and said hello with nary a growl or a bark. later, she even shared her turkey with him.
so, especially considering where she started, lucie is doing wonderfully.
and of course, she still gives the best doggy kisses ever. (not everyone can appreciate this, but as a longtime recipient of lucie-kisses, I know you do!)
I wanted to write you this letter to let you know how lucie turned out, since her fate seemed so uncertain last fall. besides that, I also wanted to send you a long overdue thank you. lucie can certainly be a challenging dog, and without people who believed in her capacity to also be an extremely good dog -- which she assuredly has become -- I doubt I ever would have met her in the first place.
sometimes when people ask me what kind of dog lucie is, I tell them simply that she's a shelter dog. I guess the goal of any good shelter is to find homes for all its animals, so they won't be shelter dogs anymore, but even now that lucie has (and will always have) a home with me and my family, none of us have forgotten where she came from. thank you, from both of us, for being such an important part of lucie's success story.
sincerely, rabi w.
[ 9.7.04] · [ ]
"hey... what kind of dog is that?" we were walking through the tunnel under meadowport arch. the tunnel's only other occupant was a man wearing a yellow t-shirt and black dress pants and tap shoes. "she's a mutt," I answered. "oh, but what kind of dog do people think she is?" "some people think dalmatian... or dingo..." "or hyena?" "yep. sometimes hyena too." at that particular moment lucie was unobligingly appearing to be about as wild as a newborn hamster, preening herself as she looked demurely up with those chocolate-brown eyes. the dancing man was not quite satisfied. "what's the name of that other kind of wild thing, like a hyena, from africa?" "african wild dog?" "yeah! that's what she looks like, an african wild dog!" he shook his braids in unchecked glee at having figured it out. "I heard someone else who thought that too," I said, crouching down to scratch lucie's stomach. and then, bolder since the ice was broken, I pointed to his feet and the long plank of wood he was standing on. "that's a great idea." "well, you know. gotta dance." "yes," I said. "I've been wondering where to dance around here." "you tap?" "since I was little. but not now, because inside it always seems too loud for the neighbors." he grinned and did a little cramp roll. "you should come dance here. I'm usually up on the grass, but this" -- he swept his arm around the mimic the curve of the arch's belly -- "this sounds so good." "my shoes are in my apartment," I said. "I'm here all day," he countered. lucie and I walked back home and she curled up to sleep in the corner next to the couch. I put away the leash and treat tote and clicker -- lucie comes with a lot of accessories -- and pulled my tap shoes from the bottom of my closet. I jogged back to the park with my shoes clicking against each other at my side. this is ridiculous, you know, I told myself. he probably won't even be there anymore. he was still there. he watched my put on my shoes and said, "damn, you got small feet!" I stood up on the board and did a couple shim shams. it did sound good, the way the sharp crisp tap!s richoceted around us and amplified to fill the tunnel. I grinned. he grinned. "all right. here you go." and he danced a four-beat pattern, something-something-something ending with a double pullback and a little stomp. I did the pullbacks and added my favorite turn step, a spinning series of syncopated toes and hops that I learned half a lifetime ago in the basement studio of leon collins. we barely talked after that, trading fours rather than words, and the noise was enough.
[ 7.7.04] · [ ]
on a red hook rooftop we were surrounded by three hundred sixty degrees of fireworks. tiny blooming lights ran from hoboken to elizabeth like a long string of christmas lights dropped on the ground of new jersey, and behind us the gowanus expressway and verrazano bridge each led like rainbows to a glittering payoff in the sky. all night, halfpint rockets came streaking up from the sidewalks, trailing crooked spark paths between buildings. and of course there were the new york city fireworks, five synchonized sets starting above the crown of our green lady and reaching up the length of the east river. there was no crescendo, no denoument, just a steady barrage of pomp and pop and flash. independence day fireworks have always seemed to be half celebration and half currency -- we will trade you these bright shiny things for patriotism -- but for the first time this year I forgot that they had anything to do with the whole united states of america. we were all watching in rows, us and the lightless crowds on nearby rooftops and the dinosaur-necked cranes at the shipping yards and the staunch, squat statue of liberty; from the other side, through the explosions the empire state building glowed red-white-and-blue and the chrysler building gleamed. are these not symbols of america? but all my awareness comprised new york city alone, the city where I grew from a baby to a girl and now, so many years later, from a girl into something of an adult, whose highways held people without cars, and the skyscrapers shimmered red with reflected light. I suppose this is the danger of living here: new yorkers are notorious for forgetting that the rest of the world exists. but I think maybe it was self-protection rather than self-centeredness. america is mostly frightening right now, more narcissism than nobility, and if we don't right ourselves in november the only thing left for july celebrations may be history. new york, though... as much as I object to the appropriation of ♥ as a verb, I could be one of those people in the commercials, running down the subway stairs or through the streets of soho crowing gleefully about how I love new york! because I do, and I do it whole-heartedly. so maybe, this time, the fireworks were half celebration and half willful callowness. which is also not entirely unamerican.
[ 5.7.04] · [ ]
in my apartment I always always have music playing. when I take a shower, I listen to the radio; when I do anything else, I listen to one of the thousand-something cds that still need to be reorganized so they will all fit in order on their shelves. at night, I listen to casette tapes, warbly from overuse, until I fall asleep. yesterday I went to connecticut all day while my mom stayed here with lucie. when I came home, the same cd that had been playing when I left on friday night -- lead us not into temptation -- was still sitting, slightly warm but motionless, in my computer's N: drive. I listen to music constantly not just because I like it, but because I have a multi-track mind. if I don't have at least two things going on at once I start to feel like there are ants running around in the folds of my cerebral cortex. when I read the times, I write email at the same time, with my screen split evenly between the scrolling text and the typing text. when I wash the dishes, I sing or practice the time step in single-double-triple sequence. I watch meet the press and eat my breakfast and grade papers at the same time. my mother has a single-track mind, which I think is why she gets things done instead of spending her life curating a museum of half-finished (or half-started) art projects and partly-read novels and unfiled papers, the way I do. and now she's here, so there has been much less music while she reads or sleeps or whatever. which is fine, because it means I have been listening to the music of the neighborhood. this is what I hear right now: silverware clinking trumpeted practice major scales my computer humming lucie breathing the water pipes whispering and rushing traffic horns someone's key sliding into a lock jingling dog tags spanish-spanglish-spanish pages rustling as they're turned the ceiling fan rocking back and forth so very slightly subway train decelerating sounds like new york city to me.
[ 4.7.04] · [ ]
this rug is the only bit of decor that moved with me from the midwood house to my prospect heights apartment. it was under the glass-topped coffee table there, and when lucie lived with us she liked to crawl under the table and curl up on the rug. it was very cute, because we could look through the top of our table and see our dog underneath, but it was also a problem because she liked to guard her territory, and sometimes when my roommate tried to coax her out from underneath, lucie would bare her teeth and growl like a little wildthing.
after a while, as you all know, the growling (and related bad dog behavior) was too much and lucie was sent away and I didn't know what would happen to her. but it turned out she and my family loved each other, and I found an apartment near the park where dogs are allowed, and now lucie is a brooklyn dog again. as soon as she came in she found her old spot on the rug. (actually, as soon as she came in, she flipped over and wriggled around and peed all over my floor in excitement, but I forgave her for that.)
lucie is still a wildthing. in the park she swims and sometimes chases the squirrels and little girls look at her and ask if she's a zebra. (we joked, later, that the next inevitable time someone asks what kind of dog is that? I will say that lucie is a hyena-zebra halfbreed.) but when you call her off the squirrels she lets them escape, and when you give her a down command at a distance and she drops to the ground, all the people watching coo in surprised admiration.
so lucie has been domesticated. now she lives in an upside-down crate (with the door always open, unless she is home alone) or on her striped rug or on my purple rug or sometimes just on the floor, and she doesn't mind having her picture taken. [ 2.7.04] · [ ]
one of my recent papers came back with the following comment penciled onto the bottom of the last page: nice job. have you considered writing a book? as if the young-teacher-in-the-fucked-up-city niche hasn't been filled to bursting already? (you would think an education professor, of all people, would know that.) and as if I don't have a billion and two other things to do, not the least of which is my first-year teaching portfolio, which although it lacks any literary component might as well be a book, for the amount of space it's going to take up? I have homework even when I'm not taking any classes! he was right about one thing though: I need to write more. I'm losing track of my life, here. the last entry in my paper journal is dated april 12, and it starts out with an apology -- oops, long time between entries again. and this one mostly so I won't have dragged my journal to boston + paris + cachan + germany + back for no reason except that we could die together -- and when you have to palliate your criminal neglect of journaling for a piece of paper that surely does not care one way or the other, you know you're in trouble. so now it's july, and my official obligations have been reduced from everyday teaching-grading-commuting-schooling-how-did-it-get-to-be-two-am? to the following: 1. playing with lucie 2. going to graduate school and 3. doing my interstitial homework, which hopefully will not result in anyone else telling me to start writing a book, because I don't think I can handle that kind of pressure. I am not going to list all the things I am supposed to do beyond that, the things I have been promising myself I would do since january, because then I would have to go cry in a corner for a while. and besides, then it would keep me from making yet another silly promise that this month there will be an update every day. EVERY DAY um, except when i am not here so that when I am senile and have lost my memory, I will be able to look back and remember how when I was twenty-two I lived in brooklyn and I was so careful about balancing my budget that sometimes I went a whole week with nothing in my fridge but margarine and maple syrup and a glass of pineapple juice, and I thought it was the best life ever.
[ 1.7.04] · [ ]
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