hemingway's chicken

Do chuid gruaige.

Wrapping it up here, folks. New e-mail address (katerlily at gmail dot com) to go with my new blog (katerlily dot blogspot dot com).

Cheers.

A useless entry; I'm waiting for inspiration to strike so I can unveil the new journal with an appropriate measure of pomp.

Also: World of Warcraft finally finished downloading. See you in Azeroth.

And I'll build you a city
of shimmering light
and I'll blur the edges for you now
and exaggerate its height.
--Professor and Maryann

...

Serpico and William Butler Yeats are both slumbering peacefully on my knees, and I can't bring myself to rouse them. I've not been as productive as I expected, quite honestly, but I'm okay with that. There is time, and there is time, and there is time.

...

I'm starting a new blog, incidentally, and I'll be phasing this one out in the next few days.

I think my favorite part of "Not You, Not Me" is the Blade Runner reference.

...

It's dark. There's rain but no thunder. My room is cold, but I won't close the windows. I've got the same old soundtrack playing---and I'm drinking Old Chub, of course. I'm limiting myself to one can, given current circumstances, because two, as we all know, transforms me from your average weekend slugabed to a staggering lush. Going out soon to grab some more cleaning paraphernalia, and then I'm going to town on this room.

Other plans include, but are not limited to:

--Beaux Arts
--Whole Foods
--hot chocolate.

My interview went really well, and the coffee shop is beautiful. I'd love to get this barista job. Wouldn't it be awesome if I could work there and at CITE for another year while I live with Nadja and Lorien, and I could pay off my credit card bills, and then I'd be free to quit CITE and work full-time as a barista and finish my book and concentrate on getting published and fixing up bikes?

Breathe, Katie, breathe.

...

Taking my laptop to the Last Drop later to work some more (hopefully).

...

No dreams last night.

I could spend this part waiting. I could. I could wait and wait but someday something would erupt and I'd have to run away in the middle of the night (but I'd have a green cloak, at least, and some lembas bread, and a hatchet) and I'd hike the Appalachian trail and carry a bike on my back and tame a falcon and spend all my training points teaching it to sing.

...

I finally downloaded "Letting the Telephone Ring"---I haven't been able to find a copy of it in years, and now listening to it makes me think about the black-label SoCo of Last Resort.

...

That title isn't true, exactly.

...

Didn't oversleep. Just stayed in bed too long.

Good things:

--I have an interview bright and early Saturday morning for a barista job at the same coffeeshop that's featured on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I spent a little while chatting up the owner, and he said that although he doesn't usually hire baristas for strictly evening/weekend shifts, he's tempted to give me a shot.

--My UPenn application rolled over to the new year, so I have until January to upload my statement of purpose and give this thing a whirl. It's a ten-month, intensive MA/cert program in Elementary Education, and I think I actually have a pretty good chance of getting in. I'd have to take out loans galore, but I could just call that "refinancing my credit cards."

--Nadja and Lorien invited me to come and live in their second bedroom when my lease is up, and so far I've tentatively accepted their gracious hospitality. I do have other options, but I'd prefer to live in a situation where I'd have less pressure and more autonomy.

Mediocre things:

--I've had a whole bunch of offers for my extra Series ticket, but so far everyone has seemed either super shady or they've flaked out on me at the last minute. The average sale price for tickets in my section is $650 on Stubhub.com, but right now I'd be happy with $400 or so.

--I feel pervasively sleepy, regardless of how much time I stay in bed. And I can't stop eating pumpkin doughnuts.

--I can't find my digital camera cord, so I haven't been able to upload photos. And I have some great ones, too!

Pretty much the worst morning ever.

This song never gets old. Seriously.

...

I dreamt we were fighting, but even in the midst of all the confusion and chaos (and where did you come from, anyway?) there was this deep, glowing joy and we both saw it, damn it, and that unstated recognition was enough.

...

I've gotten pretty fucking sloppy.

I'm too old to write letters I can't send. Aren't I? This restlessness sparkles. Today: a mix of clouds and sun. Elsewhere, it's already freezing.

...

I miss that joy on waking.

Back from vacation! I have pictures and stories which will, unfortunately, probably have to wait until tonight to be properly transcribed. Still, quickly:

Last night I dreamt of strangers on a bus to Minneapolis. I dreamt of finding someone I thought I lost and talking while the bus driver rolled a joint she called characteristic. Outside, the snow looked silver. I kept my hands neatly folded in my lap.

Also, in another dream, I figured out this year's Halloween costume. Score.

It's my birthday. Oh yeah.

I just won the opportunity to buy three World Series tickets for Game Five in Philadelphia. Should I go, or should I resell the tickets at an enormous profit?

Highlights and lowlights, instead of a book-length comedy of manners:

--On Saturday morning, Nadja and Lorien and Rob and I saw Barack Obama speak in Germantown. I was inspired.

--On Saturday afternoon, I got a migraine and slept for the duration of the day.

--On Sunday morning, I went to work with Jon so I could go shopping at King of Prussia. I bought new cords from the North Face store, two shirts from American Apparel, and some sensible new underwear.

--On Sunday afternoon, I maneuvered my way through the Pride throngs on 12th Street to get together with Nadja and Lorien for kickball. The team lost 4-3, but we were outnumbered (eight players to about 15) and we put up a great fight. Thank goodness for Jake, who came to the rescue when we didn't have enough players to avoid a forfeit! Afterwards, we reconvened at Tattooed Mom's, where we drank beer and ate tots.

--After we left the bar, Nadja and Lorien and I headed back to my place for some kitten time. Jon met us there and we polished off another two sixpacks of Foodery beer and Yuengling Premium---which isn't that bad, despite having a relatively pathetic 3% alcohol content. After Nadja and Lorien left, Jon and I fought about the state of our relationship.

...

And that's it. I didn't do any writing, although I did do a substantial amount of reading. I finished Dune in about three sittings, and I'm moderately tempted to get the next book in the series. Tonight I'm seeing Ray Lamontagne with my mom, and tomorrow my students are back to start the week off right. Or something.

I wonder how awesome I'd be if I didn't keep pickling my brain cells?

Lisa and I are in a park in Florida, but there are eucalyptus trees and the sky is faded blue. Apparently, it's twin day; two skeletal women in identical green crepe-and-cellophane dresses walk and pretend not to see us. They judge us because Lisa is obviously a furry, and she's dressed in a big, convincing skunk costume. I am not wearing a costume, but I am there as Lisa's twin. There are throngs of children dressed in pairs and holding hands, playing games in perfect tandem. A police officer shows up and starts hassling us. "There are children here," he reminds us. Lisa tells him that she knows, that she isn't causing any harm, and that she'd love to play with the kids---but he sneers at her, grabs her glove, licks his hand and puts it on. For some reason I am utterly repulsed by this. I grab his gun and pistol whip him, filled with an indignant rage. "This is a furry park!" I shout at him.

No three-day weekend. Well, shit.

...

Trying so hard at this and other things.

Two cans of Old Chub and folks, I'm feelin' it. I know what needs to be done and I'm unfurling.

...

My student from Haiti said to me today: "You should learn French and travel to Paris. Paris is where you go if you have poetry in you."

...

Paris and more. What does it say about me that I'm on the cusp of twenty-five and my greatest work has been this journal? I've written here, now, for nine years. Nine years!

...

Inbox. Inbox.

...A sentiment that I rarely express, but I really truly love this time of year because I always have something to look forward to:

--a highly anticipated three-day weekend;
--my birthday and LEAF all wrapped up in one glorious pita of a week;
--Halloween;
--Election Day (which may very well mark the most splendid November since high school);
--Jon's birthday;
--the Decemberists concert with Joe;
--Thanksgiving;
--Christmas shopping;
--Christmas!

...

I know I'm acting like a little kid. But when you're as old as I am you've got to take your joy where you can find it, yeah?

...

I know I may get some curious responses to the startling revelation that I oh-so-casually just let slip. I don't care. I'm happy.