thursday september 5 2002    |    12:43 a.m.

i don't want tomorrow to come, and i do. tomorrow proper, the beginning of something else.

i spent the past two days with the boy in a little studio apartment just blocks from lincoln road. sleeping, lounging, walking, bickering, kissing, making coffee, playing guitar, digging his 4-track out of the closet, watching daytime tv, talking, looking out various windows.

then a bus ride home just two hours ago, david bowie on my headphones, different windows. i'm exhausted.

i have this irrational fear that if i write about things i want or love or would like to keep around, they'll get jinxed: fall apart, disappear, never be. it's a stupid and juvenile fear, and so i'm writing about it.

speaking of writing, there is suddenly so much needing to get done. letters to friends, websites to update, exercises to attempt, impressions to sort. not out of sheer urgency and helplessness, like it's been, but out of frank inspiration. or whatever you want to call it. readiness.

yesterday at the bar we heard ten and sang along, and today we watched slacker, and suddenly i'm getting very early-90s nostalgic. but did we all really wear acidwashed jeans back then? worse still, the cutoff kind, falling just above the knee? good grief.