mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary

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talking to tigers

This has been a weird week. Good weird, like, actually being alive and living and feeling. Weird. I sometimes forget that other people are not put here solely to amuse me as I drift onward through this mess... like characters in a book, without souls or thoughts or anything genuine to offer or share. But I kind of remembered the truth, this week. Weird.
Also, this morning I wrote the only decent anything-at-all for nearly three months as I sat in bed with aching muscles and a crazed, sleep-deprived, semi-conscious glazed expression on my face. Not a long something, but something. Something good.
Last night was more stupid, drunk fighting, but this time with somebody who could and did kick my ass. As a result I have been a groaning old woman all day, clutching my lower back when I stand up and whipering pathetically when I have to move my arms or inhale or blink. But I don't mind, really. I've always been one of those people that pokes and prods cuts and bruises, jabs at sore spots to make sure they're still there. It reconnects me to my body. Reminds me that I'm alive. On the down side, my purple polka-dotted arms and legs make me look like I have leprosy.
Hey, Sketer-bo-beter, I will be in SF in July. Can we please please please do super-fun silly things together while I'm there? Like, maybe, talking in a fake language all day or sommersaulting everywhere we go or pretending to be performance artists on the street? Please?

1:31 a.m. - 2006-04-29

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