i hadn't realized that it's been two months since i wrote anything in here. things have been so hectic, hurtling along mindlessly . . .
brad has moved out of his financial bermuda triangle of an apartment, and in with a friend, and he has a new job, whose schedule is totally incompatible with mine. my job is driving me crazy. it gets worse and worse every day, with every passing minute; an exercise in pointless, stupefying endurance. i am doing the bookkeeping now, so i have to pretend like i care, too, which is hard and exhausting. i'm scared to apply to places i actually want to work in case i get rejected and lose my options. a bit counterproductive, i know.
thank god for my car and the hundreds of miles i've traveled nowhere with it.
and for donna tartt, who is my new love and hero.
and for pulp, who provide a soundtrack.
( how's this for eerie: i am reading the secret history and listening to pulp simultaneously. as i'm driving to work one morning, before the sun rises and chilly, i'm listening to different class and thinking on the novel and decide that it's too uncanny a soundtrack, that i have to write to donna tartt and tell her she needs to make a movie out of it if only to let jarvis cocker score it. later that day, something possesses me to google search for donna tartt + pulp. result? pulp is one of her favorite bands. hey now . . . )
