2001-12-16 || 11:36 a.m.

|| sunday and there is no point to this. ||

gee-awd. i have too much to write about. it's brimming over, compounding the nauseous 'just had waffles two days in a row fer breakfast feeling.' oh all the excitement. and now it's sunday and i am wearing a beanie and sitting with meow on my afghanny lap (she is looking up at me, studying my face, and it is absolutely breaking my heart).

i don't know where to start.

where to start. thursday friday saturday and. it's sunday. and it has finally gotten quiet enough to sit in the apartment, melt into the desk chair, listen to chet baker on the record player and make no plans but to lie around in bed and watch the newly acquired video copy of terminal usa. and make lists inspired by molly.

things i love way too much for it to be right, inspired by this weekend. by jennifer hand on an overcast sunday:

my catty cat. waffles. my vast coat collection. notes from apartment guests found after they've gone. sentimental records. eating at bad diners. secret jokes. striped long sleeved shirts. blankets made by me mummy and grandmummy pilecd up high because the gatdamneed heater is a lost cause, really. felt. poetry written on sidewalks and walls. gardens. the new kentucky quarter because there is a horse on it. 'how we met and fell in love' stories. kitchens. new boys on the horizon. smoking in the van. driving in the van. singing on tops of lungs in the van. vans named matilda. driving the van alone away from quite a ruckus party to go to a questionable liquor store, feel tough about it, and drive back to the party. sitting outside of large parties. looking in through open windows with hands perched on window sills at ruckus parties (people dancing and taking off shirts, the room so sweaty it warms me up just standin by the house). eating artificially flavored candy with a couple of lovelies out on the sidewalk all bundled up. using atrocious grammar in lists like this. noticing the atrocious grammar, wincing at the dangling participles and faulty use of modifiers, extending arm out hand forming sign of the beast and yelling 'fuck it, all y'all, grammar's fer squares!' at the top of my lungs on a sleepy sunday mid-morning.

there is more.

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