I can’t pull in a fscking call.
You always stop believing, it’s the nature of life.
My web diary began as an event catalogue and seems to have ended as a random collection of unreadable bullsh!t uninteresting to anyone but me. What did I do today? Rite of passage: the point at which it stops mattering what you did today, yesterday, tomorrow.
I woke up. I found out that I won’t get a tax refund. I found out that I missed the deadline for submitting teaching applications for yet another week. I tried to return a textbook and failed. I broke a piece of visual art. I got taken out to dinner, where I tried to explain where my life is going — again. I called my girlfriend, who was already asleep, to tell her I was going to sleep.
Only now I’m awake and I’m typing in this thing wondering what the B-52s are doing now and whether one of my exes listens to Information Society and drinking a $0.99 Keystone Light that I can’t afford.
Tomorrow I’ll “write an exam” as my German pen-pal (who I haven’t heard from in years, and who told me I was the first to know when he lost his virginity) used to say, and then I’ll try to scope out the market on freelance paper editing at the local State U, which also happens to be my alma mater.
Prolly I’ll sulk some, too.
Season 4 of Northern Exposure is coming out soon. Nothing’s Perfect.