kerouac says

and yea, there came a day in which they did not talk to each other with their actual voices. and lo, the earth did not tremble or pause in its orbit, and the girl sighed to see the toilet flush clockwise per usual and the morning coffee guy smile as if nothing had changed.

french is too hard. someone, please take a memo.

i have this inkling that part of being content in life is ceasing to envy the people who have more _____ than you do, especially when they are people you love. too bad i suck at that.

but i make a damn good bourbon and water, she said. hiccup.

today i walked out my door and--there's a bus stop right there? and this important guy was standing there. one who i want to give me a job. of course, it was the day i ate oreos for breakfast. in fact, i still had a bunch of them clutched in my fist, and i'm sure i had disgusting oreo crumb mouth because while we were talking he was very twitchy and kept surreptitiously licking his own lips, as if to clear them of fantasy oreo filth.

sometimes, you think you have lots of friends, but then there's no one to go drinking with. worse, there's no one to play scrabble with. and then you realize what you really have is a lot of very cool acquaintances who say "i love you" at parties.

day three. it's going to be okay. i still seem to like sleeping during the day much more than sleeping at night, but the phone calls are actually starting to help. and it's not cold here, and i have my very own apartment that i can run around naked in and be untidy, so neener.

it's also day three of the new building in dayjobland. today was the first time i had to use the bathroom during work hours (i know. i have a super bladder, though, and am chronically dehydrated). and i discovered that unlike the last dayjobland building, this one does not have those creepy autoflush toilets. those creepy autoflush toilets made a terrible noise right before they gushed, this kind of creepy squeek like a door opening on rusty hinges or a baby making the wrong noise or possibly a catamount. i'm happy to flush by hand.

for someone who hates lying? i do it too much. but this time, i felt bad.

you would think that if the insipid day job doesn't matter, dumb things about it would cease to bug you. but i fully admit i am bugged by the guy from marketing who comes over and talks to the man in the tiny cubicle *next* to mine but stands in the airspace of *my* cubicle so that i have to listen to him swear in that annoying officeguy way. this is a rule: if you use the word "fuck," you can't also use the words "functionality," "bandwidth," or the phrase, "let's take this offline."

we're in a new building. the coffee sucks now. and the new mug they gave me is a dribble mug. the only good news? there's a conference room called, "Paris." just this morning an email went out saying, "How do i get to Paris?" I wanted very badly to say, "practice."

oh, monkey. you lost your hat at the airport. the black one that was so new york and also irish terrorist. and then you went and bought a new one i've never seen. what am i supposed to do with this, your wearing a reportedly red-and-yellow hat all the way across the country? i can't stand that my mental picture of you schlepping uptown is wrong because of this uncharacteristically seussical hat you've bought. (what else has changed? in thirty-six hours you became someone who wears a thirty-dollar red and yellow hat. you probably put milk in your coffee now, too, or some other perfidy.) what's worse, while i'm sure that in your magical city every day brings an ice rainbow and the streets are paved with cheese, here every single thing is the same except you're gone.

that, and the office coffee now sucks.

it's a very long road to brooklyn. i don't care what anyone says.

it's so long that if i had to walk, i probably wouldn't make it. no hardy pioneer, am i. tenderfoot jones.