Mostly when I realize I try to but something and also I
cannot always – there are pieces and also parts and they don’t always fit
together – only asking questions to which the answers are not –
The complaints and the lack of restraints – drinks and fans
and the downfall of man –
Do you have hobbies?
I’m an outsider. My best advice is
to get your shit together. I tell everyone that. Just pile it up.
Please don’t conjugate in the aisle.
Catholic priest, blood nearly cancer – positive, retiring
from the army, doesn’t think he’d like the Pentagon.
I miss the team. I don’t know how
to make us a team.
The plans in my head of what I’ll do next: When we land
first I will and then next but the lack of interest in the now and also in the
follow-through of the next –
Man with crutches gets special instructions, a personal
safety announcement: In the event of an event, what can we do to help you? I’m
required to ask. You will need your crutches, yes? Not a soccer player, but he
was playing soccer. Self-declares not an athlete. Doesn’t count as handicapped.
Have another drink, boss.
Safe from the chatter: She only sees men.
Thanksgiving plans and the grid in my head – a spreadsheet
required to bring us all together. Temperature and texture and flavor, I
suppose. Three axes and no waiting!
Wishing I was in a Murakami novel – not the part where
things keep falling farther apart, but more of the jazzy caramel feeling
clinking in a glass with the record playing and mind wandering, noodles just
eaten and single dish washed – quality of the recording compared smoothly and without
threat of ostentation (which may or may not actually be a word although it
should).
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