Monthly Archives: January 2017


from my job tomorrow. Resignation letter is short. I think I did enough to ensure that my employer doesn’t take it (the words) personally. It would be best if they all just figured something is really just wrong with me. Decided on personal reasons rather than issues. Decided that I was enabling all that’s wrong with practicing omitted in the real world. Decided I was enabling a version of omitted that took a back seat to pushing paper. That’s why I’m leaving abruptly. There has to be that personal one-liner, pager, novella that omitteds always return to in order to assess the values they’re omitting (for their omitted). Omitteds always need to beautiful, even if one needs omitteds to omitted it on one’s behalf. Omitted is the one thing I believe in and, since I’m committed to functioning in reality, or on its terms (temporarily?), I better work a job where it can stay something I never lose faith in.

L (initials will no longer be followed by a period), while consoling me re the Omitted issue, said [My name] I have faith that you’ll get through this. I really do. He’s the only person I want to be around lately. He dreams and does and still has his life ahead of him.

I trust that the decisions I will make over the next 24 hours are good ones.

I sometimes tell myself, At least now when my parents tell people where I work, they can drop the name proudly. At least it stands for something. At least it stands for Omitted, and the kind of practice where people didn’t give up on the brainwaves it’s all built upon.

Thoughts are separating.

I think about the person I love most in the world and my sister telling me about a nun interview on NPR, how she said something like–



Thank you for making the work you make. It was my pleasure attending the show. I was able to get the package at my old apartment. I borrowed one of those sortof crappy wheeled trolleys from the Halal store on the corner of ###th and [Named] St. and brought the thing home. I felt like a homeless person but it was an adventure.

[P.S. I understand French very well.]


Dear R.,
I’m glad to hear you arrived in S safely. Did you see any weird people on the train? I did on this city’s # train. More like heard. The dude’s robot beggar ditty started with: I am [Name], I was recently released from prison and I don’t have a job. If any of you have money or a job I could work–any job–please let me know. I think the prison part was weird. He didn’t provide any information as to why. I felt like if I heard something like I feel as though I served too much time for a petty thoughtless act or Don’t worry, I committed a petty crime or–well, whatever, some explanation–I would have given him some money. Sometimes the crime fits the time. I don’t know where I am going with this.


Dear S.,
You’re like a teenager all the time. I’m like one of those girls whose boyfriend you stole.


I am tired. I made a potato + cauliflower + herb mash for dinner. It looked good. Too much garlic or not enough butter. I felt like I was suffering from whatever that artist YK suffers from all day at work today. Severe lack of focus, probably because I am interviewing for the second time at another place tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll feel the same way tomorrow, but I don’t want my employer to think I want him to change the course of my 18-month plan. I know I don’t want to omitted for the company. That’s where I drew the line in the sand, gravel, flagstone, tumbled rocks, whatever.

I had a fucked up dream last night where two Japanese girls dressed in white decided I would look good with 2/5ths of my head shaved. (Half of) One of those stupid haircuts that people in non-coastal cities sport that people in coastal cities have grown out of. The Japanese girls and I were in some huge building with a wonderfully complex plan running from people inflicting some sort of violence. Evening. A lot of people in white. Parts of it looked like 10s 20s images of New York with light shining beaming from the Woolworth building bouncing off other facades.


food throughout the day and clementines for dinner. I should have gone to the grocery store today. I went up to work (1/3 jobs I work) instead. I enjoyed the day with my employer. One disappointment: the omitted, when mounted, did not have enough omitted for the omitted to bypass the omitted (which sucked). But we got a lot of work done omitting down the omitted in the omitted. I hope there are more of those days ahead.

I’m thinking about going to the grocery store but am at a complete loss as to what I would buy there. Several heads of cauliflower for easy dinners, crackers for binge omitting off- work (3/3 jobs) hours, a giant slab of steak that I’d feel guilty about buying because it’s not one I’d be buying from the Farmers Market that’s been out of reach since the move to this hood, what else–have been generally clueless as to what I’d like to eat since I moved to this apartment.

Earlier today, I decided I love this apartment. My sister was right with her You found a unicorn. It’s been perfect for the past 2.5 months that I’ve lived here, and having a separate bedroom means that I sleep enough / have a place to sleep without electronics in the room. I doubt that’s the first thing that belongs on the list of pros: Not having to share space with any of the psychotic roommates I once shared space with, access to transportation, being able to make (and clean up) whatever messes I want when I want, being in a neighborhood that won’t be gentrified for a little while longer than the previous one, having a neighborhood filled with this city’s others, having the best (and cheapest) wash & fold down the street (never having to waste time doing laundry), having south facers and bright light when I need it most, being able to have plants deep in the living room because of the south facers, having landlords who didn’t require more than the standard proofs of income and references and who aren’t in my shit or not dealing with the shit they need to deal with,  just having space to myself.

In writing all of that, I feel guilty about having space to myself, but I did give the sharing economy OR WHATEVER a chance for a year. I really tried to be a good roommate 4 times(/apartment) or 6 times(/actual roommates).  At some point, there was no point in–enough. The only reason why I got carried away over the last few sentences is because my old superintendent called me to tell me I had a package waiting at the old apartment. I think it may be a book, but I worry it may be a box of shit from Omitted (I didn’t tell Omitted about having found a place and I didn’t fwd my new address). For whatever reason, the old superintendent sounded pissed off about the package–I imagine it’s in the stairwell and neither one of my former roommates bothered to let me know about it. What I learned from sharing space with other people (which may read hyper-Christian to anyone who’s sensitive, but it’s not really meant that way because I’m thinking more along the lines of Musil’s obsessive repetition of it in the fat double volume; or my only advice to others for the new year):

Do unto others.