this weekend:

the apartment: dishes, floors, clothes and sheets, all of it shaken out, brushed off, washed. usually when this happens, it means that I have grown tired and disgusted of the mess I'm in. this time around it was a signal of rising out of the muck. also, a concession to the orderliness my mind prefers.

the mess of a man: I noticed a man in a cab yelling and it was him, the one who always wears a green shirt, the drunken mess I cannot greet. He was angry about some cab related offense; angry enough to spit at the partition. he spat again after slamming the door, his voice both lurid and frightening, and I found myself giddy and lightly running away.

anthony: the only college boy I liked when I was in college, who I discovered to my dismay and relief (as to why he never spoke to me) had a very awkward stuttering problem, stood on Michigan avenue with a clipboard trying to ask shoppers and tourists if they had a minute for something, but he did not ask me. His eyes flicked over my face and he moved on to the people behind me. I had a secret smile. I wondered if he chose the job as a way of getting over his stuttering, which I think is more of a social anxiety than an impediment.

my first sox game of the season: came with no warning, I had plans and then suddenly, I had the delicious opportunity to watch a game on a beautiful night. It was soured by the fact that my phone died and I couldn't invite more people to join us. It was a perfect experience except the Sox lost.

walter: and I have been spending a lot of time together and it makes me wonder if that same comraderie exists between the love of my lifetime and the girls he spends time with, if it is that same enjoyment without the necessity of sexual advances. I have never really had a close male friend before.

the city: wanted to meet and talk about the absence of our friendship, but I just couldn't.

currently reading: The Dubliners by James Joyce. If I had known that it was notated, I might not have bought it. Every other line has some corresponding footnote to decipher the meaning or relay the cultural (and usually dated) reference. The footnotes are all in the back of the book. Rather than flip back and forth, I just try to sort out the meaning through context and if I'm really confused, I'll check the reference. Also, I sometimes read the list of notations all at once at the end and find that I tend to deduce fairly well, with the exception of one or two things that I was off the mark about. I don't understand how someone can read a book and then check out something they don't understand, as in whip out a dictionary or a scholarly reference. I never see anyone stopping a movie to look up a word or check something on the internet. But maybe I just have a weird relationship to reading. Anyhow, I've been enjoying the brief short stories. They are dialogue heavy, which I like.

the love of my lifetime: I have longed for him all weekend to no avail. it is no wonder I cannot trust him. he is never there when I want him to be. I receive the morsels of his attentions while others get his whole wondrous being. he will arrive soon so we can do what we do best together: sleep.

siena: saturday marked the beginning of a fourteen day stretch of work. I can't imagine how frazzled I'll be in the end.

the smoking: is still not an issue, despite visits to bars, being just as stressed at work, dealing with awkwardnesses. on tuesday it'll be five weeks of non-smoking.