Dood.

www.vetiver.com

Check it out. It's the band I saw play last night. Very good. Streaming audio, free, of their new album.

I'm about to go insane, because i've just spent 2 hours trying to install a wireless mouse on my boss's dinosaur computer. That was after 4 hours of file stripping and shredding and stapling. I handle that stapler like a bartender handles a bottle of Jose Cuervo.

And I have class in forty-five minutes. I need, desperately, to read and to sleep. My plan earlier this week had been to superglue myself to a Muddy Cup couch (I prefer that pea-green one) and read read read. Tomorrow, perhaps. Mary Barton and a large iced cafe please.

Fitzerland just called. Date at the plaza tonight. Country music. Maybe.

Arghhhh i'm never going to get this stuff done...

Poetry Past Midnight

Just to get it out.

So i've got this messuvanextfewweeks that i'm going to trudge through
weekend one the ex-writer-boyfriend flies into Albany and we hang out
Maybe.
I've got to giv'im a ring.
And the never-ex-boyfriend-but-beloved-nonetheless Punk comes in for his birthday
so i'll hand over whatever I didn't spend tonight at Bomber's
this weekend
and partake of the grandoise frozen Margarita...
for the umpteenth time!
Then another week of torture with a novice Prof.
As if Victorian literature wasn't bad enough on its own.
What did she call victorian novels?
"Baggy monsters"
Yeah. She's a monster in a fitted khaki skirt and woven top
wearing cat classes that only
serve to annoy her features further.
And having to write my 10 pager on Wordsworth
Before next Wednesday.
Ay, alma mia.
Yes, Pablo, I know what you mean!
I feel bad for ditching my students today.
But noone called!
I saw the Artist.
Tonight.
Twas' the birthday of my other favorite Citizenship tutor-volunteer-gal.
We left her at Bombers.
I feel bad about that too.
We went to a concert.
And it was good.
Except it sucks.
Not the concert. But you get it.
Anyway.
It's late.
I've just come home to 60 unread pages and
plenty of hours of sleep to not look forward too.
Oh torturous night.
I like that word,
adjective.
Torturous.
Anyway, next weekend.
I take Friday off work.
And go on two interviews
for jobs I don't really want to take.
But I do.
But I don't want to go back to the city.
It's like walking into a bakery looking to buy pair of shoes.
Whatever it is i'm looking for...
it's just not there.
In fact,
that which I most wish to avoid... is.

Then it's back to Albany on Sunday.
For God knows what and when and how.
But I don't.

I think I should get some sleep.
The dawn runs toward,
as I run away.