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Coffeeeeeeee!
Saturday, Sept. 20, 2003 at 1:53 p.m.


What is it about sleeping in until 12:30 in the afternoon and staying in my pajamas until 2:00 that makes me want to get moving even less? As if a day not begun in the morning is a total waste. I did stay out until after two in the morning last night but the day was not exactly eventful. I skipped T'ai Chi because I have a bit of a head cold and just plain didn't feel like going. I can make up the class by going to a T'ai Chi class at the university fitness center, but we would have learned the next few steps in the series that we're working on and it would have been nice to go. Okay, I'm going to start getting up in the fucking mornings again! And I'm going to get some more exercise, which at the very least means going to work on a more regular basis and walking around campus!

I'll have to suck it up and call my professor this weekend, probably tomorrow. It's ridiculous to be worked up over this, since Donna knows me. I've gotten drunk with this woman, smoked pot with this woman. Hell, I've kissed this woman! (No tongue, but we definitely breached the platonic barrier on a few occasions.) I'm caught up with my English class and can catch up in History in the course of an afternoon, which I think is what I'm going to do today, but I still have all these loose ends.

The life of a recovering depressive is a gigantic loose end! Well, not really. The number of things that have someone never gotten taken care of and now need to be gone back to are few, but they are stupendously huge tasks. I have three in mind, the least of which is that I have to get my tuition paid for the last three semesters. My tuition money comes from my grandmother's account, as controlled by my aunt. All I need to do is email her and hope that there's enough money liquid to pay off the more-than-usual amount. I need to do this before I even can add that directed study, since I have holds on my account at school.

It could be worse. Last mid-December I was arrested.

Oh, yeah. Handcuffs, back of the police cruiser at 2:00am as the friend I was attempting to drive home gave me a helpless little wave through the window before being driven to another, non-incarcerated friend in another cruiser to finish the job. Fingerprints, mug-shot, shoes, jewelry and glasses taken away and making a phone call to wake up my friend and her parents to come bail me out since, ironically enough, the only other person I knew who could get $500 in the middle of the night was me! There are no ATMs in police stations.

It's 66 degrees and "fair" in Detroit. It's Fall, and I've just bought two pairs of Gap, flared cords at the Value World on Woodward for $3.50 each (feeling very excited and very white). They're musty, but I might just wear a pair anyway since I can still smell the detergent and they're clean, after all. The leaves are starting to turn yellow and I love this time of year.

Fall used to be the only season that I didn't have a special affinity for. It meant that winter was coming but you didn't get snow or the inclement weather that brings everyone together and makes you feel brave for just getting to an evening class. Until about three years ago, when suddenly Fall became my favorite season. That sense of impending change, everything on the cusp of moving drastically around you and being able to wear a light sweater, but no coat, and at the same time have the wind smell like snow.

I know I keep coming back to song lyrics, which is incredibly cheesy, but since I'm listening to The Flaming Lips' "Do you Realize??" let me just say this: I understand this song in ways I never could even last year.

It's a long process to get your head out of your own ass, and I think I've finally done it. I still have shit in my hair, but I can see things (and more importantly, people) for what they really are. Not what Anne Lamont so wonderfully described as: "seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one."


I'm listening to Beck MP3s -- currently In a Cold Ass Fashion
I'm reading nothing, but I just picked up the fall issue of Glimmertrain.
I want nowhere. I am a sloth.

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