December 19th, 2003

quix·ot·ic

I was supposed to go out last night, with friends I haven't seen in what seems like....forever. I I woke up in the middle of the night,delirious. Hard day at work so I came home and crashed. I missed them. There is always tonight, but...

Still sleepy from the lack of rest I have been 'obtaining' the last few...forever. I didn't even get to do the chores I was supposed to yesterday: check out the apartment, go shopping, etc...I hate it when sleep sneaks up on me. It takes a hold of me with it's icy grip and knocks me out. I guess that's a sign I needed it though.

This sucks, I am totally off balance. Lackluster. Conundrum. Fucking rut even.

Well, how depressing and Gloomcookie of me, but I'm really fine. I just get discouraged.

See Also: despondent
See Also: dejected

Need to go back to Michael's or Slobby Nobby tomorrow. Forgot the damn chicken wire.

Since it was prety late when I woke up, like one in the a.m., I decided to get fall back into a slumber.

"Healthy. Natural. Sleep."


Embrace the poppies.

SHE

Anne emailed me, said she is going to provide the chicken wire if I provide the stiff drinks. This chick is uber savvy and has an acute nerve for the side that I cling dear to. We met one night at Fitzpartick’s in Galveston, a quasi-small Irish Pub with swank undertones and good live piano music. (The singer played a Billie tune just for us, oh how I love sullen notes.) I was there with a dear friend, laughing and playing the grandiloquent, raving about some abstruse Wolfshiem reference from one of their songs—of course, sipping the glorious martini. She walks in, decked out in a black turtleneck and medium length red plaid skirt. Black boots to match. She was carrying a copy of A Morning’s Work under her gloved arm (which is a super collection of medical photographs, particularly burns cases from the 1800s) and of course, I began to drool. I look at Alex and secretly point at her and the book. It took her a few seconds (we were on our second martini, mind you) and she whispers, “Jess---go up and talk to her,” I, being the ultra suave pimp that I am (ha!) wait after she gets settled in (I do not want to bum-rush this morbid princess, well…) and walk up to her and comment on the book and think she will shyly say thank you and I would return to my faithful drunkenness. (A male also walked in with her, I guessed it was her boyfriend, who I might add, was not too shabby himself) We sit there for a while conversing about everything from antique medical equipment to suspension to how we prefer soy milk. The male was her brother as it turns out, and all four of us played a overly-buzzed game of darts and exchanged numbers; all to the tune of Billie Holiday.

So she wants to do this project after I’m done with The Cabinet of Sleep. All she said about it was that we needed a large space to work in and Styrofoam…and that we have to have a plethora of good tunes.

Who said nothing ever came out of drunken states with strangers.
  • Current Music
    Billie Holiday: Strange Fruit