Wow, I really ran the gamut today.
I woke up in awen, the stateless state (like mu, the gateless gate. Only not). Went through my morning in a dream. Got to school (managed to bike to school and remain dreamlike, which is no mean feat), found out that my first class was cancelled, and became (for no decently explained reason) highly agitated, to the point of minor panic attack.
So: I read some of the poetry I wrote last week, and was vaguely satisfied with it. Then talked to Cozeth, then got some ideas for a story Iapos;m working on, which is about people who are like Al and I, only more likable. Which is probably not good for the story -- the characters should be more real, flawed, harder to like. Yes? yes. I think. Itapos;s always sort of magical, in a good story, when you realize that youapos;re sympathetic with a character who isnapos;t very likable.
One of the things I think I dislike about Haruki Murakami most of the time, in fact. His narrator-characters are just sort of their. Things -- interesting, amazing, touching things -- happen around them, and sometimes sort of to them, but you never get a real sense of the narrator having texture.
this is emphatically not true in his short stories, which is why I love them best of all.
Then work happened, which was an emotional null. I snapped at my boss, worked up a sweat, and then repeated the same motions a thousand times. Good deal. After, I was not too cranky to socialize, so I went to a bar and sat alone and drank three beers, which passes for socialization for me, especially since I watched two people in their mid-twenties hitting on each other, which was wonderful and hilarious because I was feeling psychic, and reading peopleapos;s minds while theyapos;re trying to figure out whether and how to make out with one another is really hilarious.
I also thought interesting things on my bike rides today, about machine empaths and human empaths and what those words mean.
and at work: my boss, who is a printer and a duckhunter, not a thinker, had to draw up a schedule by which the 6 fellows in his duck-hunting club could schedule their shooting times at their camp sight. Basically their are six guys, six slots per day, three days per week (when they have access to the site), and some number of weeks per season, and it falls to the boss to make up a schedule. His big goal is to give everyone the same number (or roughly the same number) of 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th slots, without having anyone pull the same slot more than two days in a row.
So slam bang in the middle of work, when I usually am gourd-bored, I get to start thinking about statistics and combinatorics, and that was really fun. I think I will write a thing that solves that problem for him, comes up with randomized schedules.
anyhow.
and then my vague coffee-crush and I chatted while I was still drunk because I went to the bar to watch people make out instead of getting dinner after work.
oh. And drunk make-out girl recommended some book to me, because heapos;s apos;like Bukowski, but better.apos; which is such a chico state college girl thing to say that like you donapos;t even *know,* man.
also then I biked home still tipsy and watched Life on Mars, which is great.
and also I talked to Tym, and Marty, and Pete, on the phone, and that just hella made my day. Yay for portlanders.
and then I was tired.
the end, by tom, age 8.
daily calorie recommendation, amazing astrid.com, amazing astronomy fact.
