..the silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life. Then, at the rim of vision, it gathered itself, and in one sweeping tide, rushed me to sleep. -S. Plath, The Bell Jar
a fine novel written by another fine, misunderstood woman.

I feel like I am on a vacation of sorts. I wake when I want, read, write,eat, drink and sleep whenever I want. No one bugs me..there is something to be said of true solitude. It's kindof a house arrest without the law. I have experienced the alternative--not my kind of living.

Tomorrow's my 35th birthday. It doesn't feel like it. In fact, I must have been given a calendar from 1995 or something because I cannot believe it's Christmas either. These have been the strangest, most odd, unbelievable few months. I feel like I am watching a movie of someone else's life and thinking,
"God, her life really sucks...and now she WHAT? Who turned her in? She murdered whom? Wait, she's really a MAN??? Fuck, what a fucked up movie. Shit, let's go get a beer."
The fates are not on my side this year. How many New Year's Resolutions is one person granted?

I like to smile when I hear people pouring out their woes to others in coffeeshoppes, in bars, in the grocery line. And it is never good to trivialize other people's shit. I mean it is stressing them out--no matter how pathetic their situation may be. Nevertheless, I am tempted to say, "Look lady, if that is all you have to worry about, you should shut your fat, loud mouth."

I mentioned to an old friend that working in Japan is looking better and better. He speaks fluent Japanese and would make a great travel companion. Even if he does like action movies and video games. I mean, we can't all be perfect.

So it's Saturday and my urge is to trip into manic mode and be the overachiever. But today, I am taking it easy. Cleaning behind the refrigerator can wait. and something ot leave with you:

she appears in his dreams
but in his car, and in his arms
a dream could mean anything
a cheap sunset on a television set could upset her
but he never could

remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird

his goal in life was to be an echo
the type of sound that floats around
and then back down like a feather
but in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
no one could hear him
or anything
"Hummingbird" Tweedy