Tag Archives: tulips

Dear

X.,
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.

Orange

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.

 

Nervously

shaking the leg that’s attached to the foot, that’s perched on the c. 1901 wood floor, that’s supporting said leg and the other. I’ve prepared for the 11am interview as best I can–now all I have to do is stay awake until then. In about an hour and a half: send off 2017 email to Omitted (that I prepared an hour ago; tone veers tense, and rightfully so). Two hours ago: arrived from that city, where I spent the past two weeks glued to the slopes and off the screens and avoiding all work emails, especially the ones from the omitted who’s an asshat, who convinced my favorite person at work to leave, who may have also convinced me.

I am nervous for the interview, but confident that I’m (at least) within the top 3 on the list of ideal hires. I won’t look awake enough and this will work to my disadvantage. I’ll wear what I have worn to the interviews that have landed me jobs: a black shirt, a black sweater, black slacks, a colored pair of socks (tough shit if the color’s not their jam), a pair of shoes I like (that bring me closer to my ideal height, that are leather, laced and flat).

I spent the past week incredibly angry at Omitted (same instance as above). I shouldn’t be sending the email. I shouldn’t be acknowledging Omitted considering what Omitted’s been putting me through and what Omitted will put me through in 2017. I need the universe to toss me a loophole around this one, or a black hole and a little force. My sister tells me to plan for the worst, meanwhile I’ve only planned for what’s just a little worse than whatever’s transpired over the past few months. I told her that if it happens the way I think it might, that I’d tell everyone Omitted omitted, that I’d write a book about all the different ways he omitted as a way to keep track of the trajectory of the lie (that he omitted). I don’t know what I’m allowed to do and what I’m allowed to feel. My sister tells me I’ve assigned Omitted too much credit. I hesitate to believe her. I want to pretend the universe has something else in mind for us. I want to think Time has something else in store for us.

In around an hour: send the email. In around and hour and a half: leave for the interview.