Homework

Tell me about your day

I pinched myself today--that old trick. Then, I thought, it only works because of the acute surge of nervous orgasm for one second. In that second, my brain twitters out of my nose and onto the student desk or the dashboard or the cutting board and does this song and dance: "It's purely psychological! Yeah Yeah Yeah!" while kicking up its gray legs and swashing its gloved hands in a jazzy form. My brain knows forms, but not ideas.
So, after that second was over, I felt the lack of lucid feeling I've been feeling for a while, Doctor, er, I mean, (fellow pedestrian stream-lining Forbes Avenue at 8:10 pm trying to walk home from work before the beggers come out.)
Auras are high, but gray tinted and illuminated with moldy fuzz. It could be as delightful as a Civil War sweetheart photograph on bended metal in the back pocket of a dead drafted kid, doesn't matter if he's blue or gray, because, at this point, all is an isolated gray from bleeding and blending, there is no North and South. They can't be auras...
Time is in a bad dream. When I sleep, I'm always late for job interviews, beginnings of semesters, and birthday parties. Time is a banshee laughing five times faster than a New York business person can drink coffee. I never win in my dreams: man's sadist struggle against nature--
Time.
In so called waking life I have similar experiences with time, but time also simultaneously moves like molassus in January. "Molassus in January" is something Ashley said once, oh, I don't know when. I say then, when I meet this paradox at the vicious lines out West, that time can't really exist then. If I wear a watch and eat grilled cheese at 12:15, the world is a watch. But, I was at The Point, I saw and didn't see, and so on. So, I can't live in a watch if time doesn't exist, because I didn't eat at 12:15 when the watch clicked, because the watch never clicked...
I spent sixteen oh four today. I came home and opened the jeweled case and realized I never saw a price tag and didn't recall putting three ninety six in one of my pockets. We opened them like packages of sweaters on our 23rd Xmas morning. I am undecidedly back $16.04.

October!

It has been brought to my attention, recently, by myself, and slightly others, but mostly myself, being that I am usually sickly self aware, that I have been pacing and fleeting about back and forth everywhere like a crazy girl. Note the record number of commas in the last sentence.

Well, It's almost October, and (which I can't help but say "and the leaves are stripped bare of all they wear, what do I care...") and October is the best month of the whole entire Roman calender 12 month year. Perhaps in some other universe where lunar calanders rule, October is not the best month, but for purposes now, it is, oh how solarly it is.

Yesterday had the first taste of autumn weather in the air, and it made me quite excited. Soon there will be red, orange, yellow, brown leaves, 21st Birthday and birthday in general!, blue lemonade skies (like NOW), smell of jack-o-lanturns that includes all of Halloween, and even Donnie Darko Days.

So, I promise, Angela, to buck up, clean my contacts a little better. Which reminds me, I ought to go to the eye doctor. My contacts always seem to dry and cloudy lately, and all I see is slightly blurier images of what I would normally see, with white auras. Perhaps there is too much computer staring-at, which does give me a headache. Sleep is fine and good, perhaps it's just the change in weather making my eyes all wacky like.

Whether I can see or not, I have a list of Things To Do. Mentally at least. I should mark everything down on a Post-It and stick it on my aquarium, while I watch the pinkyorange fish with their big black bug eyes blub blub with nothing else to do. I always thought animals did nothing but think enourmously deeply about things us people think about to an extent, that animals just understand a little further than we can. But, now I can only limit that to at least cats and dogs, or my cat and dogs I know for sure. Fish, I think they just bleet bleet their thin fins and wait for food to trickle down. I would like to be a cat, but not a fish.

I would like to be the little girl I observed while I was on my break a little while ago. This girl, may have been about 12, skipped on into the library to return something, her long wavy dark blond hair bouncing around, completely oblivious to -just stuff, I assume. She wore a light blue turtle neck and jeans and saddle shoes. I wish I were her, in that very second hopping up the steps to the library. But, I suppose that could be not much different than floating around waiting for freeze-dried worms to trickle down into my fishy mouth.