Straight No Chaser

Under the Peachy Round Moon

no research whatsoever. i don't even know what the moon looks like tonight, nor have i known for at least the past hundred nights. i'm going to hate myself in the morning, when i'm fighting the urge to sleep through my obnoxious alarm and skip work entirely. i only have one friday class, that hateful government lecture, and it's more or less canceled--what he said was, anyone who's seen "the candidate" can take the day off friday, because we're going to watch it in class, and if you think there will be a single person in the classroom tomorrow, then you clearly know nothing about disillusioned college students. we aren't here to collect the arbitrary facts professor engram tosses out, we are here to capitalize on every given opportunity to slack off.

there's a reason i'm still up, but quite honestly i don't remember what it is. when this happens, and it happens a lot, i just wait. that accounts for ninety percent of my atrocious sleeping habits, and one hundred percent of my success at finishing anything i ever start to write.

okay, marcus called. that's what i was waiting for. i should have known.

aaron is reminding me that i want to dig out my andy warhol journal and grind the nub of my pen till my hand goes limp. the renoir journal is stil mostly empty, less than thirty percent is filled in, and i think that's because it's so vanilla. i never set a precedent for any particular raciness, in there, and now i don't want to defile its virgin pages with my filthy mindsplats. this stupid journal, i decided when i first created it that i wouldn't push it past the eighteen rating, and i've been successful. nothing cute about overexposure. but i do need a place to store the sauce, where it's okay to analyze a particular flick of the tongue, or where i can ramble for untold pages about, i don't know, lips. i don't want to do that here, and i doubt certain people want me to. so tomorrow i'm going to call home and get someone to put andy in the mail. maybe he'll listen.

now there isn't a reason for my still being up. and i just saw the moon and it isn't round. bummer.

if there is such a thing as reincarnation, and if aaron comes back as a fuzzy black kitten who is NOT jesus, i will buy him straight from his housefront cardboard box, while he is still sniffly and sleek and looks like a jericurl, not an afro. i have this fitted blue sweater that i wear sometimes, that zips up in front, and that, despite being thin, keeps me especially warm. when kitton-aaron and i need to go places, if it is chilly outside, i will zip him up into the front of the sweater to keep him warm, and his purrs will tickle. i don't like kittens much, but that would be nice.