Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Realistic, not fatalistic

On a good day, when I get up without trying to get up for too long or trying not to get up for too long, then I’m awake to dense clouds suddenly sun then softer, whiter clouds and rain with the sun and then just rain again but luckily that stops too, I like the sound but I’m on my way to do an errand, almost, and then onto the Geary bus for the picture frame store where they’re very friendly and I get a pink mat, maybe I should just go home is what I’m thinking, maybe I should just go home because I actually feel okay. But down the street is Green Apple, literally two blocks away I can’t miss an opportunity for Green Apple so then I’m in the poetry section, looking at books I’ve heard of but I’m not that interested in, just to see if maybe I’m interested in them, and books I haven’t heard of, to find the ones I’m really looking for. I get excited about this search but then my hands are starting to hurt from turning the pages and I’m getting hypoglycemic while sitting among all this dust on the floor but now I’m hypoglycemic so I can’t leave until I find something I actually want, which actually happens and then I’m in the queer section, which they’ve moved again, they’re always moving the queer section even if they don’t call it that.

Outside into the air and luckily I can piss behind the port-a-pottie around the corner since Green Apple will never let you use the bathroom no matter how long you sit on the floor in the poetry section but luckily I know where I can go in the neighborhood, back onto the bus and I’m so tired I don’t even feel like eating. I’ll take some amino acids and meditation like a nap and then I’m home, a smooth enough arrival and departure without the pouring rain which I love except it gets into my shoes and how to get them dry. The other day when I went to the laundromat to put them in the dryer and someone said you need a large blanket or they’ll kick the door open, he meant the shoes, and this woman said here, you can put them in the dryer with these blankets, really my shoes in her dryer which was really her dryer for work she said I don’t care, the shoes aren’t dirty, right? Maybe I can just keep thinking about moments of shoes in the dryer with a pile of someone else’s blankets keeping me warm, that way I don’t need to wonder about turning the heater on, destroying my sinuses I won’t. Move the books to the other side of the table so I’m not tempted to read, my fragile hands. The squash is in the oven no it’s on the oven I took it out, long enough to make it dry like a pastry I prefer the moisture. But let’s stay realistic, not fatalistic, as if there’s a difference -- I’m trying to open the packaging for the frame and the knife falls to the floor, sure it’s the small knife with the wide handle but I better pick it up right away I can already feel it slicing open my foot.

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