just when I thought I had climaxed as a failure … diet coke all over my laptop.
lost three hours of this edit, and now my keyboard doesn’t work. composure is frayed, crumbling. I suppose I’ll be in the library tomorrow, if anyone’s around campus to be distracting?
I don’t even like diet coke.
words have been slow, and absent
or not even
ideas are sticky: a pastiche of desire that I am unable to assemble.
… so I’ve been crying less. but I’m adjusting to new meds like that arc in a hungover morning (which is actually the afternoon), when you crave some kind of sustenance which couldn’t possibly be food (because: your stomach) and is probably ‘life’, and so you eat hash browns.
not in an overwhelming way. just … I don’t get most things done. and, like, I hardly care.
I’ve feathers and sequins and a few good friends and, when my nails are dry, I can crawl back into bed and listen to Lou Reed until sometime later tonight. when Will and I are going into public to dudewatch and be awesome.