old (2008), Uncategorized

monday blues

There are moments when I wish my apartment would blow up or catch on fire. To be sure, I would miss plenty of things — the least of which would be photo albums and music and my books — but it would absolve me of the burden of sorting through all of my “stuff” in order to determine what should stay, what’s superfluous, and what’s worth letting go of (despite an initial reluctance). It would also mean that I wouldn’t have to wash dishes tonight.


It took me forever, but I’ve finally figured out how to list the current music track I’m listening to on my Google chat status. This feels like a larger technological milestone than it actually is in reality.


I was yawning so much in class today, one of my students said, “You forgot to get your coffee this morning.” She thought I was joking when I said I didn’t have the money — it’s only $1.28, yo. But I wasn’t.


About two years go, I wrote in my journal: “I want other people’s happiness. And their puppies.” I’m no longer lusting after stolen smiles or cute puppies, but I still feel an intense longing to press my body up against another human being — and feel that connection, that warmth, that solid presence — and just cuddle until I fall asleep and dream. Maybe this is what missing someone feels like, maybe it’s loneliness, maybe it’s fear.


Since I’ve been reading the third step in its entirety every day, I’ve been sharing that it helps. And friends are asking me to call and leave it on their voicemail so they can listen to it at their leisure. Apparently I have a nice speaking voice. I’ve done this for four people now, and I’m beginning to think I should charge 75 cents a minute. Hey, if I used to be a phone sex worker, I can certainly pull off coaxing people through sobriety. Something tells me the market is much smaller for the latter.


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