Cereal Post

I feel like I need more Lucky Charms in my life, but really Grape Nuts is what I probably need.

It's odd....
To go from feeling gregarious and then to wanting isolation and silence.

To want to share laughs and play with friends old and new, and then moments later wanting to laugh at Play All of season six of The Simpsons, alone in the loft.
 
To go from thinking I have something figured out, to knowing I have nothing figured out.

To smile at the sun coming out, to remembering why I wasn't smiling in the first place.

It's odd to feel like words are my only way out, and no words come out except these ones, reflecting on what's odd.

Post Serial

Two types of wine. One before nap, one after. Also, coffee after dark. Lots of cheese, both the Tillamook persuasion and the cream kind. Records. The Black Keys, Banner Pilot, even Arcade Fire. Working on a new story that is close to home, not about home, not about me, not exactly, but it is the taco bell of stories, or rather my stories are taco bell-ish. Each item on the menu is very similar to other items on the menu. This story has a mash-up mix-up of them all, I suppose. I suppose a lot lately. Also sigh a lot.

I get sad when I grocery shop. I avoid it. I get sad at cereals like Koala Crisp, and Cafe Yum sauce, and I cannot even utter the phrase "taco night" without a pang and a stab and a clench. As a result, I either don't eat or I eat out. I have lost fifteen pounds this year and I'm out of money.  I avoid songs by Kurt Vile, Seapony, Gaslight Anthem, and determined that even thinking about Sunny In Philadelphia makes me sad. And hurt. That's stupid. That's me. Stupid.

Sunny Side Yup

Tried writing in cursive the other day. Not a good idea. Less on that later.

Still floating in some sort of nexus point. Can one float in a nexus? I'm still drifting in many ways. How many ways can one person drift? What's the difference between moving in the right direction and drifting? At least I am coming back to Me. Or has Me been coming back to I? That has been refreshing. More so than refreshing inboxes looking for word on word school.

Speaking (writing) of words...I am going to go type some. Different from these ones, (mostly.). And I actually won't "go" anywhere. Funny how all that works.

The Etc. Era, Eon, Age, etc.

Loft living day...27? Doesn't seem like that's a lot of days when I really think about it. And I really do think about it. Yet, as I've stated elsewhere on the internets, my world has once again returned to boxes. Life in boxes is a common theme if one moves around a lot, and it some ways it feels as though I've always been moving. Might sound romantic, but I don't see it that way. It's sad, actually. What does sound romantic, and a bit idealistic, and not sad, is the ol blank page now staring at me. The metaphorical blank page, that is. It can be a scary thing, especially if you thought you were working on something that had many filled pages, pages of adventure, love, building a life with someone, promising futures. To extend this semi cliche metaphor, because I love to extend things, especially metaphors about metaphors, a new chapter of my life begins--or rather, a whole new book. I hope it's a new book. One without the repeats of the last books, with new themes, and new successes, and overcoming, and etc. etc. etc. Loads of "etc."

Re: Turn

Some things aren't meant to be. Been learning that lesson a lot lately.

Got the word from the word school, and the word is-- no word school for me from that word school. Another repeat. I still have other hopes, but at this point, hope feels strange in my stomach.

As I've said before, if they really think they've selected the best people for their program, then it is not a program for me.

Anyway. Time to go stare at the wall for several hours.