Sunday, May 11
good grass and a good day to be barefoot. a lot of people complained about the weather, but couldn't decide whether it was hot or cold. maybe it was too in-between. really, it was humid - joanna said muggy, but us right-coasters know better. it was kind of perpetually-before-a-thunderstorm, but we still didn't get one. i for one thought it was very pleasant, the best out-of-doors day in a while.
the weather, actually, was mostly what picked me up by late afternoon - before (well, i only got up around 1, and i spent an hour or two in sharples, where you can't have emotions anyway) i had been, not sad, but not happy; too in-between i guess. better once i figured out the right thing to do with the weather - not lay out on the beach struggling to concentrate on baudrillard (though that was a good try) but climb the malus florabunda ("showy crabapple") outside my room. all the way to the top, where it gets hard because the branches are so dense. i couldn't see my feet, but i had a nice view otherwise.
oh, i like all my love-interests much so that it sometimes seems strange that those past are necessarily to be less signifying and ascendant than those present. well, and as it's been established, foolish. but a fool for love is maybe the best kind of fool to be - and alyssa points out i'm only foolish when i want to be. those people that are crazy for being happy always are often called fools. and, this is all foolish: there are plenty of lovers for all of us (the absence of desire, discovered or reinvented, seems to work for hannah; you always have your weird admirers and something unknown besides; and of course we know about me, or else not) it's just a question of what to do about them. that has to not be the question at the moment though.
i am still determined to punch out my last fct two-pager tonight, though it's a bit tricky convincing myself since it's a mostly arbitrary day, being a week-and-a-half past due as it is. but i shall do it. maybe i'll try to read the rest of simulacra and simulations before i write, though that is a much less pertinent form of procrastination than it seems. if marginally more than this.
i can turn the grey sky blue
i can make it rain whenever i want it to
i can make a castle from a single grain of sand
i can make a ship sail, ha, on dry land