kerouac says

cold. so cold. man, would i like to be warm.

the phone has become an ear-appendage. it's growing off me like some kind of post-hensile tail. its delight is waning. i am not good at distance.

i woke up at four a.m. sure that i was to artist as dog food is to butterfly. then i fell asleep and had a sex dream about allison janney.

i'm worried about money, against all reason. how can i be behind, when i've done so much correctly? this isn't right. all over my demographic there are people less prepared than i am who are far less worried.

i talked to z. on the phone. he made the city sound like a giant party i could come by anytime. i was impatient. it's a long party, he said. also reminded me that i am almost perfectly situated, on almost all fronts. perhaps the abyss is as close to being my oyster as any reasonable middle class girl could honestly expect.

i suppose it's unusual . . . how many junctures, anymore, give you the impression that life could be anything? so perhaps now is precious. three years from now, if i'm selling shoes, there will be plenty of time for bitterness and frozen cake.

for now, hot drink inside me. pronto.