*endlessly getting soaked
*unsafely riding my bike without my glasses because they’re so covered in droplets as to be un-useable
*cold toilet seats
*spending all my money on heating billz yet still being cold all the fucking time.
yet, it’s here. it’s SEPTEMBER. boo! well, i haven’t turned on my furnace yet and i’d like to wait at least another month. i turned it on halfway through october last year but that’s only because i got sick.
travelling last week has made me want to go everywhere. i’ve got a few schemes hatching, but realistically, they probably won’t go anywhere. i want to go places.
got a letter from prison from a felon whom i am close with–a dude from a wealthy supportive family. he traveled the world on his parents’ dime before he was locked up. now he’s in prison & has been for years, for crimes that were 100% his choice to commit–not things he was forced into, as so many people behind bars are. and when he sends me a letter complaining about how he’s stuck in america forever because he’s a felon & most countries don’t allow amerikan felons to visit, i just get angry. i’m not behind bars but i’m not free either. none of us are. i’ve never really left amerika and i hardly even leave pittsburgh and obviously i am not gonna send a letter into prison about how oppressed and un-free i am but i don’t know, it just really pissed me off.
i heard my boss talking shit on me this morning so now i’m on strike. not officially, of course, just in a passive-aggressive way, because as tempting as it was to charge in and yell, “oh yeah? well FUCK YOU” and storm out, i can’t do that.
so i’m still here. thinking about disgusting orange jell-o desserts, about portland oregon, about zines, about people i know who used to be exciting and who are now boring. i’m taking a slide into the boring side of life, myself, and am shocked at how…pleasant it is. WTF? i don’t want to lose my grip on the world or on life. but i am tired of fighting, at the same time. pretty much everyone i know who has gotten boring is just tired of fighting. and i can hardly blame them, even though i miss their old selves.
i really really want to finish the first draft of my nov before the year is up. i need to write about 40 more pages. i’m not inspired at all. but i’ve decided to sit down with it an hour per day, monday through friday. it’s like homework. i was never any good at doing homework. still, it needs to be done. i have things to say that need to get out there & it’s not gonna happen unless i get some real work done. do i have anything else to say? i started this novel in the summer of 2006, that sweaty hopeless summer in philly. it was four pages, written mainly to piss off my girlfriend-at-the-time (it was a cautionary tale about an out-of-control compost pile!) and now it’s about 180 pages. and i just have to keep on going. finishing things is hard, but if i don’t finish then all this work will have been for nothing. i’m tired of that.