excerpt from notebook, classtime, 9:07am:

such lethargy, today.

it's the middle of the week.

i hate middles of anything-- they're the roadsign on the highway waving you on with a "half the pain down, half more to go..." when you barely made it through the first half intact. the race marshall who gestures you on and up the hill with a cheery "you can do it!" when all you want to do is feign a sudden concussion, ask for water, and throw your cards down on the race.

middles signal mediocrity and mediocrity hails inadequacy,

inadequacy bubbles over into teacups.

tomorrow there will be a God. tomorrow the elixir of the promise of the weekend will give the spring in your step; the trip in your trot; the b-b-b-bounce to propel you into forward motion.

but today you are allowed to be mundane.

today we chew like Navajo, tobacco, slow; and tonight we fall asleep to coffeegrounds and stereos and the drone of the telephone. alone. phone home.

the music hurts.

[/edit]

on another note today i heard someone say to another someone "it's 3 o'clock, why don't you go and eat?"

and inexplicably my heart was filled with love for the unbearable joy of being human. for the same safe little rituals we perform the world over that make us this devastating, simple genus.