basically terrible at tumblr want to be alone in my house listening to cafe tacuba and reading a thousand years of solitude but you know not finished with anything yet.
today, in my snit, in my comedown from brinksship, my thunderstorm that never bursts, my windows open, my here we go again, Liz tells me it is about adjusting the view, about going for it anyway, about being quick, about what did you really want?
tonight it is balmy and deep green, the color of barrack and camp tents, of the beginning of a summer, the throaty oaks of it, and I lie on my back alone in the bay window room of the only place that was mine alone, that i tried to make myself but never really, and i think, I’m alone on a summer night in the middle of a buttery lit ceiling fan wood floor, in a room of my own, I’m almost off Diviasadero or NE 23rd and the ancient bed and orange light the twilight room in Casa Azul and the fields of moon and mezcal, if anything, I managed to do something right.
take it back, today has been
so, broke even, I guess.
"There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night, and if you go no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone."
things I want to do with four weeks to go. sigh.
I saw the movie version of Michael Chabon’s Wonder Boys well before I read the book. I thought, and still do, that it was one of the best movies ever made about being a writer. This was before I became serious about writing, but when I already knew most movies about writers are bullshit. I’ve…
i feel most of these things about Wonder Boys.
oh good only the rest of the frakking weekend of me and design suite and deep, deep shame about how impressed I was with this draft.
let’s go.Played 85 times.
current mood while on second draft of project: tom hardy and other brit talking into a walkie talkie at the end of Layer Cake muttering, bingo bongo. tango foxtrot. blah blah blah.
responses i wanted to say when told, “you look tired” or “you look tired and pissed off this morning”