2003-07-06 / 1:37 a.m.

Yeah... eggplant and mimosas for dinner; trip to Winn Dixie full of slanderous comments passed back and forth with love; glowing discourse on old family photos and shared ideals on the back porch in a citrinella haze... life is good. And I write, I write every goddamned day, whether I want to or not; I have the words pulled out of me, coaxed or enchanted or persuaded or whatever, it doesn't matter. Words words words; all mine and they've been beautiful, I'll say it, I mean it. Even Rachel agrees; it's a turning point in my writing, this summer; I was really quick to attribute it to David... maybe it's more me, but I doubt it. I think it's all of it, the locale shift and the David letters adn the self-imposed semi-isolation and the fact that I finally went "fuck every other thing in the world, I want to write." Such a pretentious thing to do.... but, I come from a family of geniuses who lack confidence... I'm making up for six other people with my opinion of myself and my potential. (Is that a reasonable excuse?)

I miss my friends. Bob I expect to miss every so often, and the whole Hattiesburg crew I never saw so often anyway... the knowing I'm farther away is new but the real missing hasn't really set in yet. But, my old room mates... and the kitty...

I can get a new kitty; but tiny cats want too much and I haven't got the patience. Plus I have weird loyalty to Xanbar issues. Candi and I want bunnies but there's the eaten by dogs factor that I fear would lead to my being locked up for a while. So I'm going to get a fish. A red fish. (Apparently these are expesive fish, too, so this is quite an undertaking.) And I shall tap on the glass and say "meow meow, muffin" at it; of course, its name will be muffin.

I miss the busboy. Silly little weirdo. And Greg. Mari.... not the job, though. I don't think I'll ever miss the work itself. I think about the fact that I never went back to say goodbye, but I couldn't; it was too weird and I was too into it Friday to go back again.

I'd like to see Scott the eternally evasive, sooner or later. I'm not going to hold my breath for his appearance; the lung capacity for limitless waiting is far beyond me. I'm not really toataly sure why I think he's so interesting... the fact that he knows he has my attention and then runs off for, literally, years at a time?

The sorry about dresden cd was one of the better choices of my life. It's taking me through alot of 2AM's when I can't write on the walls or wander off to a bar assured of safe return..

What I need to do is quit being such a pussy little fucking girl and go out and amuse myself. A job would be nice... a little job... tiny... "ickle" even... Want Money. Pills and booze and cigarettes and books and gas and pens all depend on cash. Bastard capitalism.

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