It has reached the point where I could sit here for hours & stare at the little white box & never squeeze out a single word. Just sit here & stare, amidst the saltwater taffy wrappers & random piles of paperwork representing the war between paid & unpaid bills. Wishing something would escape, let's see.

Mainlining hummus & spiced tortilla rounds from TJ's, listening to Camera Obscura, debating a bottle of Shiraz that's chilled & ready in the fridge (I'm one of those cold red drinkers, freaky, yes, but I don't care for it room temperature during the heat of summer), wondering why I didn't just get ready & head off to The Pub as I had decided upon earlier in the day.

I don't spend nearly enough time at The Pub as I would recommend & yet am lax to do anything to remedy the situation.

Life has continued on & if that isn't cause enough to sport this winning smile, I'm still working two jobs & broke as shit & usually too tired to get drunk or do much of anything but read myself to sleep & wake up the next morning to drag my ass out of bed & begin again.

Am still ignoring my guitars & enjoying the privacy of my own place. I come here often to write & after a handful of false-starts give up & find something else to occupy my time.

Lately that something else is books.

Making my way through three to four a week. Some old favorites (On the Road, Skinny Legs & All, James & the Giant Peach) & some new ones (A Dirty Job, A Dirty Job, A Dirty Job). Suki even got me to read a few bits of her favorite fluffy girl reads (hence the Nora Roberts) & I swallowed them greedily, like a half-starved stray (cheesy sex scenes & all "he filled me with his rock-hard manflesh, forcing a flood of womanly moisture to the surface of my trembling soul") egads.

It's the whole anyone's-words-but-my-own syndrome that strikes every so often. I need them rolling around head, but get scared of them leaking out, so I just keep pouring 'em in there.

I'm unlocking the diary, not like I've written much that needs locking up, but I'm hoping I've been forgotten by the unworthy & can write easily. Locking is the surest way to stifle me... close up my mind & I can't enjoy myself. Won't find comfort in this space here unless I claim it as my own. Let them look, who cares, eh?

death cab for cutie - a lack of color

I think there's been a distance achieved by the past two months, distance from caring anymore about the happiness of someone who only ever brought out the pain that otherwise has no place in my life. I grew too calloused & preferred my memories remain sweet.

I'm too fucking old for angst.

Angst is boring after 23 & here I am ... at 32.

I'm trying on the whole "grown-up" relationship pants, bending & stretching & squatting & trying to wear them in to where they become something I can put on every morning & lounge around in all day. Maybe even wear a few days in a row & not once feel like taking off & throwing in the washer because of an odd stain or distinct smell.

James comes to visit now & again when his job brings him through town & if he's lucky I'm not a total bitch, if he's really lucky I've got my goofy face on & am in search of mischief. The domestic peeks through at times as well & I think, "hmmm, I might ... maybe ... sorta could handle this. someday."

Fuck, I'm trying & there's a part of me that thinks you shouldn't have to try & another that reminds me how anything worth everything takes effort.

Fuck, I'm worthless with this.

I'm a single girl.

It's just what I do.

I can feel him waiting for me to give in to being "His Girlfriend" but .. shit. I don't know that I can be that for anyone. I'll keep trying though.

I like him. He's kind & patient & we have fun & laugh together.

That's enough right?

Better than I've had it with the past few.

I'm applying for a new job, a new full-time job. Not something I'll enjoy as much as what I do now, but the pay will be more than double & at the moment I'm all about rushing my almost debt-free existence.

Next Thursday is Frank Black.

excited for that.

Badly Drawn Boy is playing the Great American Music Hall on the night before my birthday this year.

I'm contemplating.

Flogging Molly is touring as well.

Ani's new album came out two weeks ago.

Tomorrow is Suki's birthday.

Time for a popsicle & to read High Fidelity again.

Tomorrow I'll head off to the used book store at lunch & fill my bag with more words to cram into my skull.

I missed this.

Babble-er-iffic.

:blowing my speakers: Iron & Wine ~ Peng!
:feeding my head: Nick Hornby ~ High Fidelity
:rotting my brain: Six Feet Under (season 4) & Buffy (season 2)

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