April 27 1996
I was told yesterday that, should I choose, my current job could last until September and judging from the other jobs that were available before (hauling wood, machine shop work) I decided that wandering around a paint warehouse sounds much more agreeable, so I won't have to keep changing jobs for several months. I got a neat pair of steel toed boots out of the deal too!
Once more I am in the coffee shop near... whatever term you use to describe a house from which you rent a room, hardly my house, not an apartment, and to say the shop is near my room would seem to imply that it was in the hallway. But enough anguishing over lack of terminology. The place always seems busier than the night before and I think that the four drawings on the walls, all nude male figures from different angles (one of which is hung well beyond the capacity of the frame to reveal) were selectively chosen to repel families with soda-charged toddlers.
Whenever I try to establish a setting for a letter, invariably something will happen that forces me to stop writing or to change my setting, such as the coffee shop closing, leaving me with a few meagre lines relevant only to my setting and being so damned neurotic about my letters I will usually abandon it and start again at another time, which is why this letter has not been already written.
So no more setting. I exist no longer in physical settings! The hand that shapes this letter is crafted of a million particles of dust each miles and centuries apart converging as their settings swarm in and out of existence behind my pen, unaware.
This weekend I am taking L to see Hamlet. From reviews I have read I think that the language may have been modernized which I don't care for but I do owe L for cutting my hair and she seems to adore the play.
Thank you for sending the poem. If I can find something worthwhile I'll send it to you but there isn't much to choose from. I believe that living in someone else's house leaves my feeling spiritually sedated as though I should always be alert that I am not intruding. I have started to consider looking for somewhere else to live.
I had an opportunity to see a Stephen Hawking lecture but unfortunately geography and time made this impossible.
Mostly I have been thinking about the past, which I often curse myself for doing but I think it does motivate me occasionally. I think that I either need more time alone or more time intentionally with someone. But trashing the T.V. would be a good beginning.
Love + Remembrance,
E
I was told yesterday that, should I choose, my current job could last until September and judging from the other jobs that were available before (hauling wood, machine shop work) I decided that wandering around a paint warehouse sounds much more agreeable, so I won't have to keep changing jobs for several months. I got a neat pair of steel toed boots out of the deal too!
Once more I am in the coffee shop near... whatever term you use to describe a house from which you rent a room, hardly my house, not an apartment, and to say the shop is near my room would seem to imply that it was in the hallway. But enough anguishing over lack of terminology. The place always seems busier than the night before and I think that the four drawings on the walls, all nude male figures from different angles (one of which is hung well beyond the capacity of the frame to reveal) were selectively chosen to repel families with soda-charged toddlers.
Whenever I try to establish a setting for a letter, invariably something will happen that forces me to stop writing or to change my setting, such as the coffee shop closing, leaving me with a few meagre lines relevant only to my setting and being so damned neurotic about my letters I will usually abandon it and start again at another time, which is why this letter has not been already written.
So no more setting. I exist no longer in physical settings! The hand that shapes this letter is crafted of a million particles of dust each miles and centuries apart converging as their settings swarm in and out of existence behind my pen, unaware.
This weekend I am taking L to see Hamlet. From reviews I have read I think that the language may have been modernized which I don't care for but I do owe L for cutting my hair and she seems to adore the play.
Thank you for sending the poem. If I can find something worthwhile I'll send it to you but there isn't much to choose from. I believe that living in someone else's house leaves my feeling spiritually sedated as though I should always be alert that I am not intruding. I have started to consider looking for somewhere else to live.
I had an opportunity to see a Stephen Hawking lecture but unfortunately geography and time made this impossible.
Mostly I have been thinking about the past, which I often curse myself for doing but I think it does motivate me occasionally. I think that I either need more time alone or more time intentionally with someone. But trashing the T.V. would be a good beginning.
Love + Remembrance,
E
posted by Mermaid at 11:06 PM
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