sublingua

The heart with a mind of its own.

(Be present.)

The mind with a heart of its own.

(It's past.)

The dream that is your waking life.

(Go there now.)

The Demon Who Spins Her Wheels
Tuesday, Dec. 23, 2003

The Day's Inevitable Second Entry:

I'm back here at Max's office, and someone is microwaving something that smells like one of those chicken pot pies that I used to live on when I was a child. (Yes, I used to pop them out of the aluminum container and into a bowl and microwave them until they were defrosted and the crust was all soft and gooey and underdone and then I'd eat them, usually in front of the television set watching cartoons or M*A*S*H.)

This has been my morning: Went home and took a shower and got ready to come out to lunch. Had to stop to buy gift certificates from a movie theater as a contingency gift for Ladas and ChicaLadas. Then I had to run up to a nearby bookstore for a greeting card to put the damn gift certificates in. (I looked at but did not purchase a new copy of Pale Fire.) I went to Starbucks for a coffee and to sit for a bit and write in my journal and read some of the Wilson autobiography and people watch. (My favorite? A blonde in tight white capri pants and white strappy shoes and a baby blue top, talking on her cell phone, saying to someone, "I'm a nervous wreck." And I was, like, it's fucking freezing outside, so maybe you should put on some real clothes THAT AREN'T WHITE because that seemingly useless rule about Labor Day? Well, that's not so much a suggestion as it is the fucking law. There was also a man who grunted his way through a tall coffee, each sip followed by a little satisfied grunt. He had on those Terminator shades that the old folks seem to favor, mostly for driving, and on the table beside him was a pair of those ear coverings that you see people wearing on shooting ranges. The rest of the crowd was the expected assemblage of yuppies and yuppie-wannabes and consequently not worth mentioning.)

So, yeah, I'm trying to finish the latest paper journal so that the events that are chronicled in it can feel free to pass out of my life. There's a lot of shit in there, shit that begins about the same time last semester did and I was desperately wondering if I was worth anyone ever loving. There's a lot of gratitude in there too, long lists which I used to try to remind myself of all the blessings I had (in the face of all of the not seeming to be getting anything that I thought I truly wanted). And there are the lists of demons, a list I tried to avoid making for as long as I could.

I came to Max's office only to find he and Ladas all hopped up on sugar from the boxes of candy that Ladas's boss brought them for xmas. I had a chocolate from Max's box of assorted chocolates and then made Max take the box away from me, and as soon as he did, Ladas skipped in with another box of Cadbury's chocolate-covered cookies, and I had to eat half of one. (Luckily, they tasted like chocolate-covered peanut shells and so, yuck, temptation averted.) Now we're just waiting for ChicaLadas to get here. (And I'd like to think of a better nickname for her than ChicaLadas, but the brain is on hiatus today, waiting in line at the DMV or something, and so I can't even begin to formulate the plan to formulate the plan to...fuck, not another loop.)

This is long and going nowhere. Like The Boy Wonder's Dick.

retreat or surrender

More lies:
Waking Sleeping Demons II - Sunday, Oct. 30, 2011
Waking Sleeping Demons - Saturday, Oct. 29, 2011
time - Friday, May. 20, 2011
- - Wednesday, Oct. 06, 2010
The Return - Tuesday, Oct. 05, 2010

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