lunch break

today.


yesterday.

i wish it was yesterday only i was happier about the universe and not so hungover from what pete and i both agreed would have been a mild night back in college. we were in bed before midnight! and still! the depression! the headache!

i’m waiting for my phone to charge, for a million dollars and for the end of the semester when pete is done with school and my thesis is turned in. then we can surf without over analyzing surfing or at least things will change.

this morning alice walker was on “forum” and i kept walking back and forth out of my part of the office hoping to see her. i did not see her. i also stood up in my cubicle opening mail because i didn’t feel like sitting down.

something is slowly mounting. i want to be a farmer. the end.

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One comment

  1. I think a farmer would be a kickass occupation for a writer, provided you had "hands" to do the real early work. You could get out there at a reasonable hour like 9, see how everything was proceeding, direct the work in the main part of the day as you pitch in and get your own hands dirty of course (otherwise what's the point?), and then when the hard day's labor is done, you'd have plenty of steam to write into the night! Because you slept in, you see. Because if you get up with the cock-crow, you'd be all wiped out by sundown and all you'd ever do is farm, farm farm! Too much.

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