is it in my head
08.04.03 @ 1:15 a.m.
My days aren't much of anything in summer. I overslept. I went to the library and picked up a copy of The Long Walk by Stephen King, but magnanimously let it go when the woman checking out my books told me it had been listed as missing (I've looked at it on that shelf every time I've gone to the library since summer started!) and had at least one hold on it. I could have taken it, but I decided I had other things to read. I'm on my second renewal of Behind Blue Eyes because I keep putting it aside for some reason. Pete overdose? Don't know. And I'm mid-Watership Down right at this precise moment. And I picked up a Dirk Pitt novel I hadn't read yet from the paperback exchange. I wanted to read The Long Walk since junior high, but I couldn't remember the title. A classmate, someone I knew since preschool but lost track of after junior high, Nate, once gave a stellar speech on that book. It stuck not only with me, but with Martha, who remembered the title where I didn't.
Speaking of Martha, we just had one of those weird things when you're clearly both online at the same time both checking email, because I kept getting replies to things I just replied to. Hah.
Anyway. I also went to that suburban mecca, Home Depot. I wanted spray paint to redecorate a wastebasket my brother's first wife gave me once. Yeah. It's this arse-ugly white plastic with my NAME written on it and a number of senseless swirls and symbols. It's getting painted over and probably decoupaged.
Oh yeah, and I fucking, fucking hate driving our '76 BMW. The goddamn gas pedal STICKS, among other hideously annoying things. I wanted so much to cry when I was driving around the stupid DEQ parking lot. I was so pissed and frustrated with it, but possibly the worst aspect of it was not being able to swear because I was with my mom. So watching my tongue likely added to my stress and frustration. That, and knowing my mother is always on my back about money when my dad bought a PICKUP TRUCK WE DON'T FUCKING NEED. I might be less severe on the pickup if my dad sells his goddamn van, which he doesn't use anymore, not now that he's got his precious pickup ("There are fingerprints on the hood! How the hell did those get there? Let me dust the car fifteen times and wash every window before we drive to Blockbuster.")
Then I was angry and upset and just wanted to be alone to somehow work off my frustration. I was feeling to claustrophobic to play guitar and was just generally wishing for some SPACE (I think I'll be happy to move into the Eugene house) and ended up spending my whole evening cleaning what used to be my sister's bedroom but is now storage. (Also worth mentioning: There is no space in my bedroom because my double bed takes up all the space.) And I built layers and layers of paper on one wall to paint on but I'm almost completely uninspired and feeling my own lack of talent. So I'm not exactly feeling the relief of catharsis. I'm still a little pent up and will probably go the guitar route tomorrow. Much smarter.
So yeah. I'm boring.
(The title track is from Quadrophenia by the Who. I'm feeling a bit Jimmy Cooper today.)
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
