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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Monday, Feb. 09, 2004 @ 10:24 pm
I have an inexplicable feeling of unrest. I've been going out and riding through empty school playgrouds, chasing beautiful sunlight and searching for something intangible. Trying to capture it in the lens, in my hands; seeing it in my condensing breath briefly before it fades.
I accidently unplugged my clock a week ago and it's been blinking the wrong time since then. It doesn't bother me. Time? Does it matter? Time should be measured in conversations or interactions, not in seconds. Seconds ticking by don't change anything. It's the things that happen that move things into the future.
The other night I was supposed to sacrifice a bunch of 'unneeded' mice - something that happens nearly every day. Instead:
I'll get fired if they find out.
(I decided it was not worth pursuing the Cancer Agency job. Though the atmosphere would have been more supportive, the work would have been the same mousey-drudge. I plan on taking at least August off and maybe July too, so I just have to endure this soul-sucking job for another 4-5 months.)
Nothing is really happening, just occasional gatherings in the ghetto, a tequila Friday and a trucker bar Saturday. There was actually a guy there in overalls with a dew rag and two cougars in pastel velour jumpsuits with flag hag leathery faces.
Chip is devouring a little tree of broccoli right now.
I can't shake this frustrated unsettled feeling. It's really bothering me. Built up static electricity, the next thing I touch will explode. A lightening bolt will spring from my fingertips as I point over the dashboard. Spoons will bend.
If something crazy happens in this city in the next week you can be sure it was due to me.