thursday september 27 2001    |    5:24 p.m.

          "It will be fun." The word sounded stupid in his mouth. When had he ever had "fun"? Or Wavey, chapped face already set in the lines of middle age, an encroaching dryness about her beyond stove heat and wind? What was it, anyway? Both of them the kind who stood with forced smiles watching other people dance, spin on barstools, throw bowling balls. Having fun.

from the shipping news, by annie proulx; possibly a book i have really desperately fallen for.

and speaking of desperate, what is this need of mine to get out, to do nothing while calling it something, to test the waters for people, someone interesting, anyone, not finding, not quite having the guts to give up and just bury myself in books and running and making lunches and doing dishes and futilely sending out job application after job application; instead thinking maybe tonight is the night, for whatever, and it never really is, is it.

come on. come on people out there. is it really that hard? do you really not like books or hip barber music or unplanned roadtrips or stony kmart adventures or running around on the beach at night or talking about things that scare you, or laughing at fart jokes or david foster wallace or kids in the hall or scenester kids at a show or yourselves, or deciding at midnight to go get drinks or rent a rock hudson movie or billy madison or go find a new place to have coffee or go frolic in the rain or play records and drink bourbon and make plans or . . .

sigh.

i'm going to make a running mixtape now, dig out my walkman. i'm going running tomorrow if it's the only thing i do. even if it's rainy and opaque like today. maybe later go see rainer maria if i can. or maybe just sit out by the boats and smoke cigarettes. something --anything-- new.