some dude is drawing a profile me in a journal. Ah, damn. I probably look like a dork with my mouth open. just shut it. He hasn't started sketching yet. Or he did while I was writing that. My hand is scratching across the page. la la la. Not focusing on stuff, just moving my hand and examining my hand. words sentences strainging past hoping to finish the thought by the time I've lost it. Trying to dinish thought by the column wow -- my words lost in the thoughts of time. red pen red pen. nail polish, tingling in the center of my bones in my hand. my mouth keeps slacking and I keep twitching. what in the hell was I going to say when I thought "going to say" -- kept that thought, foot twitched playa dust conversation around me -- why is aids no longer so immediate? rates are back up to where they were at the very begining. la la la la. la la la la. la la la la. whodee hodee who. I can deal with depression. I don't want to live without my arm.
Guy's still drawing me, wonder how much longer. I hope I'm not moving too much. Now we're talking ... something, they moved on after I started thinking lost it. what hand moving? retirement. I keep twitching.
Now someone's staring at me or at the picture -- can't tell. Shade structure broke today -- that's birthday girl! la la la. where did I move into cursive? [back with the la la la la's, apparently] and that's I think where I later noticed uh... keep losing the trains of thought cyclical nature of writing due to finities still going, going, going ... I'm deathly curious. wheeee! now, lovely paranoid ABSURD thoughts pounding on my fear buttons, without expectation pen moving on, is the ink going to run out on me? What's happening? I'd like to get some birthday cake soon.
There's a touch of vodka in the watermelon. Is that