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2001-11-19 || 10:37 a.m. || cabin fever, it's all the rage || this weekend i spent a lot of time indoors. i am spending a lot of time indoors and i worry it is making me funny. i talk to myself. i talk to my cat. a lot. 'we should go to the supermarket, shouldn't we.' and 'meowsy, i really like this song.' i carry her around with me in the apartment. she's a big floppy bloomberg. a lap warmer. not much of a lap dancer, that one. i listen to records i forgot i have (the sea and cake and sam prekop and duster: good novel-writing background music.). i wrote almost 7,000 words this weekend. i watched a part of annie hall (the part with shelley duvall. she looks exactly like my mum before my mum got married. she says to woody allen: 'sex with you is a kafka-esque experience.' ew, mummy.) because i can't watch the whole thing in one sitting anymore. i think i've seen it too many times. i re-read zines and handmade books (have you read michael's 'extended family'? it is honestly the best little book i have ever read.) while sitting in the orange chair in the kitchen waiting for soup to heat up. i feed meow leftover soup. i make phone calls and leave messages ('hi, mum and dad. i love you. why are you going out to lunch without me?'). i read the dictionary and find good words: noctilucent (it's in my novel, probably incorrectly. to describe the marks on her body from boy's hands and boy's mouth that glow in the dark after he is gone.). i put on my shoes because i think it will make me go outside. (i did go outside, once. to that show on saturday night. i drove over the bridge alone and circled the place three times before finding a parking spot. kids spilling on sidewalk. a ghosty dark hallway leading to a tiny rectangular room. total shutdown was playing. some of them were wearing paper bags over the heads. i stood in the back and tried not to let the walls magnetically pull me to wallflower position. i saw kirsten and waved. she had come alone too. ts finished playing and i found joe, who had the stressful duty of dj-ing with the 'ultimate party machine' equipment (it was written on it. in roller derby type letters.). i stood in the front with him and watched him push buttons left to right, up and down, switching cds and changing volumes. i felt in the way of the rock-and-roll changing of the guard. my safe spots kept getting filled up with drumsets and girls antsy to dance. and then the numbers played. they were great. i was in the very front and i was dancin, pulling off my coat and my bag, trying to soften the blows of the heads falling on cement (that pink and brown boy, geez. no bones apparently in that one.) and avoiding the swishy swashy slam dancing of the boy who insisted on taking his shirt off. kirsten made her way up, yay. and then it was suddenly over. tidal wave heading for the outside and we were in it. (kirsten: i hope you don't mind. when we were about to go outside joe said 'do you know that girl?' and i said 'mmhmm' and he said 'good. she looks like someone you should be friends with.') through the dark hallway clogged with confused kids and stray homeless people and out to the sidewalk, wow. so many people. and cars were slowing down to look and all the necks on the buses were craned our way. we stood against a chainlink fence and. it was very nice. but i wanted my grape soda. and i didn't want to have to go back to the rectangular death trap. so i went home and then came the part about the standing under streetlights unable to see the meteors for all the satellites and helicopters flashin.) guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |