2001-08-22 || 1:55 p.m.

|| the twenty-year old afghan that is causing this midlife midlife crisis. ||

bloody noses and a closet overflowing with dirty clothes and the terrible urge to just lie around under covers and watch ricki lake. or passions. oh how i miss passions. i am a bit under the weather. the insides are a little cranky. the hair, not knowing it is going to the guillotine straight away, as soon as i get the nerve, is rather uncooperative and is curling up in funny places.

last night i read my journals from last summer. van trip to pacific northwest with casiotone and moving into the studio apartment and sister sleeping on the plaid couch and making so much money from a doomed dot come job and pining over stupid stupid hip hop boy. clandestine trips across the bay bridge late at night. bad decisions and feeling much hotter than i have in a very long time. and i sound so much younger. nothing has been tainted yet with the little grown up voice telling me i need to be doing something meaningful, something as part of a larger plan. last night after going to club mallard with elka (gin rummy and drawing in the dark and elka singing pavement's 'cut you hair' song until it was stuck) i turned on the light in the apartment and was so conscious of things. the afghan my grandma made when i was five with my name knitted large in the corner in red: is it appropriate for a 25 year old lady to have this on her bed? (although if i had found it at a thrift store i would have peed my pants and hung it on the wall.) my horse collection. the fifty dollar ceramic siamese cat lamp. are those appropriate? this dumb job. not writing stories anymore. clouding my head with thoughts of needing to repair the roller skates and secret trips to oregon and stupid hair cuts. instead of school and a good job and figuring out where to live so that i am not sending off half my salary in pretty envelopes every month to evil landlords. oy.

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