4:33 a.m., no sleep yet. hours of reading, drinking black tea, smoking out the window. i keep it open at night, because when i don't, i get feverishly hot while i sleep.
i resurrected this thing just to see if i could. i haven't used it in years and years, and i was kind of hoping i'd find old entries to laugh at. no such luck, but for tonight, anyway, it's a place to ramble that is at least temporarily private.
a dead dog, a new disease, a new med, a lot of trouble (worry pain and struggle?). i want to lay in bed a lot. sleep, or pretend to sleep, or read, or think. i don't have any weed, and that bothers me. if i did, maybe i'd be able to sleep.
suddenly i like bacon and eggs.
i'm a total recluse, and i feel guilty about it; i also feel a kind of self-righteous indignation when someone calls me out on it. i love and miss people, i am just busy processing things.
i need winter boots, but i'm saving my money for a tattoo. it seems reasonable enough to me. i don't know how i lose all my winter necessities during the warm months, but i do, every year, without fail. i don't know where my winter coat is, my socks have all disappeared, and i seem to recall having a lot more sweaters than are currently hanging in my closet. i can't bring myself to wear red leather gloves (it's the red that bothers me, not the leather).
i don't think i belong in michigan. i'm not entirely sure that anyone belongs in michigan. how do other people stand the winters? if the season was eliminated entirely, i would really like it here. i could live in the upper peninsula, become a hermit, and get stranger and stranger. upper peninsula folk don't mind strange.
i miss sitting on the red balcony in the warm weather under the sun, with the herbs and the hibiscus, and coffee, a pack of cigarettes, a book, with maple boughs forming a half-roof, and the dog sleeping in the dirt below, and the bees gliding and dipping down into the water pooled in the ceramic trays under the potted plants, and a bunch of other shit.
more tea, another book.
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