when the curtain closes.

there are things I will never forget.

on Saturday I began reading a novel on the lakefront as the sun was setting and the city was enjoying the sort of weather we wait months for: some walked, some ran, some threw balls at each other, some were enjoying a picnic, but not Mr. Lucky, oh no, he was strolling along looking for frowns to turn upside down and at the sound of his music--which played from his extremely well operating boom box--some half a block away, I turned to see what car was blasting its crap music at the beach and why, and this turn, this sneer of mine along my shoulder caught his attention. so Mr. Lucky strutted across the sandy grass and stood right in front of me and told me, "It's just the blues baby..." and then kept on strolling.

and then he came again, this time with a nod and a wave.

once more, and then on the last round, he introduced himself to me and actually said his name was Mr. Lucky. I hope to see him again next Saturday while I read another book.

the last time this was ice and snow...

today was exactly like this...

to the recent past, I say merci boucoup.

depends on the angle, I guess. I want to think that there's something there, but sometimes it just feels flat and full of nothing, like the surface of something.

today while we were together, and walking, and talking, there was something, for the briefest moment that felt like a shock to me, something that I expected to come many other times, but instead that flatness prevailed, but in this instant, he was saying that if I was where he'd be he would get no work done, and his face was full of a smile, and the words seemed like they might represent something else than what he was saying, like something he was feeling, and my step faltered and I swayed, and I was surprised by that.

I don't know what is going on, and for once, I think I've finally learned not to rush things, not to ask about it, not to figure it out, just be present in each moment, enjoy what comes, and my reflections on his company and his words are still, quiet, flat, a mirror, full of smiles, contentment, and for now, that is enough.

later, they told me I looked happy, relaxed, and I couldn't believe it. I wish I could have seen myself in that moment. I'm certain I looked beautiful, and I am glad.

nostalgia is fun.

condiments, my favorite.

what is your greatest ambition? to become immortal, then die.

breathless was amazing.

godard is a genius. I can't wait to watch more of his movies, because they apparently get more and more unconventional. He was largely uncompromising in his vision and he had a fascinating theory on blending fiction with real life, creating a psuedo-documentary style movie, in which he obscured the camera so that people didn't know they were on film and he captured life as it was happening in that time and that place. That idea really appeals to me with my work, and kind of feels like the direction I'd like to take.

the funny thing is, he wondered if I would watch breathless and find it dull. terribly boring. and I wondered if I would like simply because I want to like him,

but no, it was joyous to watch and I was fascinated.

there's nothing better

than a night of head to toe grooming. I'm not sure if this is a girl thing or what, but I have been looking forward all day to going home, dying my hair, tweezing my eyebrows, trimming my nails, etc, etc. Last night, I took a shower while a little bit drunk because I'd been out at a smoky bar and I really needed a shower before the smoky bar and it was practically euphoric. Every drop of water felt amazing. Every rivulet of water was bliss. I wondered how I could have waited so long to shower and didn't care because part of waiting was what made it feel so damn good.

and, supposedly, I'm due to receive "Breathless" the french version from netflix tonight. !

this morrning

hence, I remain fixed.

the pressure cooker's boiling

but there's nothing inside to cook.

I keep feeling this intense need to be doing something, until I realize there's nothing to do. Must be a holdover from school and feeling like there's always something to do. It's been interesting, because of course there's always something I could be doing, but nothing I absolutely have to do by next week, say, or tomorrow, but I just have this urgency about things that in reality, I have plenty of time to get done.

my small goals about my writing have been part of this effort, and as I did them I wondered if I was wasting my time, if I was just doing them to feel less guilty, but it turns out, the writer's workshop application is simple: 2 to 3 short stories, or less than a 100 pages of an excerpt from a novel. And my little goals are actually a means to that end. so all this lashing I've been enduring from guilt [you're not doing enough, you're not producing enough, you're not enough!] is actually the true waste of time.

and, the period to send applications is from November to January, so I've still got plenty of time.

I've been sharing my work more with friends, and what I like about it is that it forces me to look at my work anew. It forces me to wonder what they might think. It forces me to face the truth. What I've been writing is good, but it's still lacking some things: the anger that fuels my wanting to write about the working class lifestyle, the grittiness of that life, and the way it affects everything. In other words, the work is still superficial in a lot of ways, and sharing it with other people makes me realize there's still far more to add.

I had my first meeting of what I hope will someday be a thriving writer's group style thing, that was just me and a school friend reading our work to each other.

I have been reading the work of my friends and sending back my comments.

the more things I do that are writerly, the more I feel like one.

as I grapple with choosing between fiction and non-fiction, I am considering an internship again. It is so easy to get into that writer's body, and I feel like I've spent a long time preparing, like getting ready for a day at the beach, just to be exposed to the elements and the eyes, and I wonder when I'll be ready to bare it all.