November 9th, 2016
Understanding political movements is surely the modern equivalent of attempting to fathom the divine. They may simply be beyond human comprehension. Be that as it may, there are no shortage of prognosticators...
This was written for a reading on December 1st, 2012.
I wanted to put together a collage of diary entries, so I compiled a few sentences from a bunch of different days and then, to make it more interesting, I switched them around a little.
Monday, October 1st
What if – after the brief brutality of childhood and adolescence – the non-readers go back to the places they grew up and create little worlds of perfect satisfaction where they breed children and repair tires? They go to bridge games once a week and when someone brings up Romney v. Obama, the room hushes until the offending party offers up her Jello salad recipe.
My first impulse, of course, is that if that fantasy world existed, then its denizens all ought to contract a rough case of Chlamydia.
Wednesday, September 12th
So much of writing is about loneliness. We are alone when we write and we try to conjure people to talk to. Or we procrastinate by imagining lovers we wish we were with.
Lizzie is still a tack in the back of my mind: a rubbed-raw section of brain tissue that hurts to the thought.
Wednesday, October 10th
Should we just give up and fund government through legalized bribes? Maybe we could at least create a bribe market that prices a bribe according to its benefit.
The polls say that Obama is even with Romney. Fuck.
Wednesday, September 19th
Yesterday, in class, I think I offended all of the women in the room.
Monday, November 12th
I am always surprised by the curative properties of leaving your apartment to go somewhere with people.
Saturday, September 29th
I’m marking the tail end of wedding season by going to a wedding. How depressing.
Monday, October 29th
I have a married couple sleeping in my bed and It’s hurricaning outside.
Sunday, October 7th
Westhampton. The poor man’s Hampton, insofar as that isn’t a contradiction in terms.
I am here to help dog sit. The dogs in question sure-as-fuck needed sitting. The young alpha dog, a coonhound named Mowgli is a howling brain-dead shit of an animal who pounces and slobbers and cries. Just as dumb and affectionate as a rock.
Tuesday, September 25th
Today I juggled two knives and a juggling pin under high-wattage white light while auditioning for a McDonald’s commercial. I also made pesto. Alone late at night, I logged on to the internet dating site OKCupid and did a search for anyone whose profile said she had – or was working on – a Phd. Earlier, I looked up the word ‘refractory’ for the half-dozenth time.
Friday, September 14th
The Columbia health center has allotted me a therapist at $15 a week, so I can go squeak out my troubles to a bearded man who actively listens.
Thursday, September 27th
I believe that the Wells Fargo Identity theft protection unit has committed identity theft against me.
Wednesday, September 19th
Lizzie and I are are due for dinner tonight. We will sit down and we will hash out whether we have some sort of future together as friends or lovers.
Thursday, September 20th
My head is throbbing with whisky. I had about half a gallon of the stuff last night after three strong margaritas and a couple shots of tequila.
Wednesday, November 7th
There’s nothing that quite haunts you, that leaves a bitter itch in the back of your skull, like the near-certain knowledge that someone that you love is sleeping with someone else.
At least Obama won.
Saturday, November 16th
We try to tame the ocean through the possibility of rescue. If we swim and cramp, there will be a lifeguard. If our ship is overturned, the Coast Guard will save us. If we are stranded at sea, someone will find us. In the aftermath of disaster, as in most of life’s most-important moments, our best hopes rest with the efforts of other people.
Saturday, December 1st
Tonight I won’t be lonely.