6.28.01. 1pm.
it's way too hot today, for human beings.
i'm spending my lunch hour today sitting next to the redwood grove in downtown san francisco, in the shade of the trans-america pyramid. i want to take off my shoes and put my feet in the fountain, but the water looks kind of disgusting. i want to sit in the sun, but i can't see the damn screen. i could resort to more traditional writing impliments, but you know what? it's fine. it's just fine.
i'm having a hard time dealing today. the whole day is taking place underwater: everything is moving a little slower, sounds are a little muted, things are all a little mystical. you know that feeling when you've been sitting at a desk too long, and in about two seconds you're going to stand up and stretch your arms out and yawn? i've had that feeling since ten o'clock. i can't even tell you how many times i've stood up to stretch.
i'm not hungry. i brought my lunch, but i don't think i'll eat it. i do crave chocolate, though.
i think i'm coming down with something. maybe i've got a twenty-four hour tumor, they're going around.
you don't have a tumor, harry.
i spent a lot of time last night feeling upset in a way that i haven't in a long time. i didn't like it. yesterday i got fitted for contact lenses. maybe i'm seeing differently.
i'm going to be twenty-one a month from yesterday. i promise, you're not as shocked as i am. i will be legally an adult, completely. my very own self, no one else's. well, except for financial and medical and emotional dependence on my parents. emotional dependence on a number of people, really. there are a number of people who would take a piece of me with them, were they to leave. you can't take it with you, you can't go home again. can one ever again truly be one's own person? (hint: rhetorical question).
the blessing and the curse of email is that it's only one side at a time. you say your piece, until you're done saying all the pieces you think you want to. then the other person is allowed to respond. then the other person is free to respond, react and rebutt; to misinterpret, to point out misinterpretations.
an observation: you can't fuck up saying something until after you've said it. until then, you're saying and doing it all right - you know what you want to say and how you want to say it. only after your done can you learn that no, in fact, you screwed that one up. (or screwed that one up, too).
(this is not a metaphor...) today between BART and the office, there was a cardboard box sitting on a trashcan labeled in big black letters on a red sign, "POETRY." you took a xeroxed poem, and if you were a good person you put in a dollar. having just re-read the poem, i can confirm that the poem is pretty crappy. but the box was excellent.
Some people never say the words "I Love You"
It's not their style to be so bold
Some people never say those words, "I Love You"
But like a child, they're longing to be told...
When something goes wrong, I'm the first to admit it
The first to admit it, and the last one to know
When something goes right, well it's likely to lose me
It's apt to confuse me, it's such an unusual sight
I can't get used to something so right
-Paul Simon
[Editor's Note: This journal entry was removed from the website for awhile. Now it's back. (Clearly.) I have my reasons.]