2007-06-08 || 4:22 p.m.

|| insulated ||

when i sit and write i have to have a blanket around me. now that it's warmer i notice it more; it's 72 inside but i don't feel right without the blanket. i can't focus. i can't keep my thoughts together. i wrap it around me the way you would a towel, tucking in an edge in the top. holding my elbows together while i type to keep it up. it's become a bad habit.

i sit and the cats jump up and walk over the keys. they lie against the window sill and one will fight with the other on either side of the curtain. one will give up and jump off. one will finally settle down on my lap. lap, blanket, desk and wrists.

i don't go out for days at a time. i travel from living room to kitchen. i eat lunch at 2. i do the dishes daily at 4. i feed the cats when laverne's meowing gets to be too much.

today i went to the bookstore and paid to park downtown. i bought two books and left in 11 minutes because powell's is overwhelming and i have a fear of getting lost. i drove home down burnside and thought of going out to lunch one day, most likely alone, most likely bringing a book and getting frustrated over how to hold it and eat at the same time. i'm not the type to go to restaurants alone. i'm not the type to go out of doors when it's sunny.

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