well. i’ve got one two three four hour to type. four hours to think about how fucking criminal things have gotten in terms of service.
oops - did i loose you?
don’t want to listen/read/write a rant.
loss of passion.
i sit in an aiport - SFO. my flight to new york has been delayed from 10pm to 2am. my initial reaction to this was rage. as any reaction would be. i had a feeling i should check my flight to see if it was delayed. but i didn’t.
i wonder if people would recognize me from high school, that i haven’t seen in 10 plus years.
i wonder if i should dye my hair bright yellow. not like garish, just a bright blonde.
airport culture. they stick us here to spend more money. so far,i’ve spent 8.14 on water and tea, 10.25 on nailpolish, and 2.78 on a bran/banan/blueberry muffin.
we are becoming computer. we are meshed with other things.
my spacebar isn’t working.
if iwas stuck in an airport in 1960, iwould be writing with pen and paper. now ican write and think without looking at the keys.
isit kittycorner to the bar. iwant to see airport culture ”go down”. i want to see how this place breaks-out after hours. or if it even does.
i live with a girl who is 24,and full of life - in this sense:
she sings really loudly. she laughs really loudy. she dances when she feels like it. she shows up to parties, lets herself hang out, and then she twirls her hair around and dances around. if you don’t like what she is doing, she’s says fuck you i can do what i want.
now we read this, and see this, and think “oh thats that”. but when you live with it - you start to get accustomed to that way of thinking.
i am going to take a break and paint my nails with a color named ‘canberra’t without you’
well that was fun. i’ve passed 15 minutes.
oh boy. itlooks like snagging this booth that i am in is turning out to be prime real estate. i feel like a person going to burning man in 1995. I feel like a kid living in williamsburg in 1999. i am a “booth dweller” to the overnight set at SFO. but there is no plug, so this will last as long as my battery, and then i go scavaging for a plug. electricity. mundacity.
the electric company where i live -PG&E puts out announcements telling us to turn things off. turn off standby. unplug things.
someday, we might have to do all things online. we might have to log-in to use a computer. programs like pages and photoshop, will all be monitored.
how much gas do you think was used in the campaigns.
ilike tight plaid shirts. ilike burritos. and ithink, ilike jobs.
ihave the hiccups. this is going to be a blast.
i’m wearing a big red belt. it gives me sass. its like 3 inches wide. with a 4 inch wide buckle. when iwear the belt around the house, my roommate sings a jingle that goes “i’m a girl, with a red belt on, oh yeah. hear me sing this song. i’m a girl, with a red belt on.”
you say you think you are a fuckup. i guess maybe i'm missing something.
are you talking about minor things? like maybe you think fucking up is letting your teeth get 12 cavaties?
do tell. i’m layed over for 4 hours. airlines are criminal. sticking me here for 4 hours - so i will spend 18 dollars on a glass of water. i at least hope those rich kids drinking at the bar get drunk and obnoxious. it will in the least, be something to write home about.
well? i moved areas in the airport, and sat down to eat a peice of cheescake for 4 dollars and 99 cents. there is a typical typical jewish son and mother having some brick oven pizza, a few tables over. the mother, wearing her many disheveled layers, and the dutiful skinny son wearing his little jewish hat. the mother scolds him,and stuffs a paper napkin down the front of his shirt like a bib. no. the mother scolds him and places a bib over his shirt, in the form of a paper napkin. the son looks up - not dis-similar to a look of innocence that rowdy gives me from time to time as he’s trying to be the best dog... and chews his pizza with wide-eyed duty.
i really want another peice of that lemon cake.
nude colors never really sit even on my nails. seriously. i’ll never figure it out.
the jewish mother and son outfit are leaving. she’s got on a skirt, flowing flowers, with leggings, with bulky socks, with athletic shoes. with a neck brace, and gray wirey hair.
a lot of these traveling men are wearing wedding rings.
i’m going to go find a place to sleep now.
well, 3 hours later, its go time. not really. its 2:15am, and i am still at SFO.
i managed to get a couple naps. i got to really stretch out, cover my eyes and sleep. i am so glad i didn’t sit over here with all the people. someone has an annoying laugh, and its just noisey in general.
i talked on the phone with roommatesarah for a half hour. she is fretting over a guy named lenny.
and now we are boarding.