hey baby

it’s my birthday tomorrow

i’m in my extraordinarily late twenties

talking full refund on uber eats type late

talking [formal] (of a person) no longer alive type late

if you didn’t get me a gift, that means you are my gift

hey babe

i got an apartment

i’m getting the keys tomorrow

i think my life is about to change completely

uber eats game crazy

1 tube from everywhere

30 minute walk from prufrock

yeah

let’s get matching tattoos that say “it’s sad but it’s true” and under that “⬛︎⬛︎⬛︎” and a canada goose in a paddling pool

i mean

wait, wait. i was gonna say something nope, it’s gone. it’s gone.

oh yeah. so i took a few days off to pack, put my life into boxes (this is my last resort). stayed up late and “helped” beano with her homework. she is a lightsource and the owner of many good brush pens and very funny and good. afterwards i sat down between two towers of boxes and thought about how i’ve not had a vacation since 2024, and now the year ends in the number six. i dyed the front leaves of my hair orange. that brought back a rush of memories; i cried for a while which is good. i’ve been holding onto some stuff for a manufacturer of quality soups that’s gonna land me in a pickle, which i do not relish. it’s been a long year since christmas three christmases ago, and i’ve got to take some time to wring it out of myself and into the radio. feel like i’ve been having, in a personal capacity, a week where decades happen twice a week for half a year.

sometimes you’re just waiting around for someone to have a dream they can’t explain.

wait, wait. i was gonna say something — nope, it’s gone. it’s gone.

oh yeah, .

foc was really special. again. i fucking love this event. all the people are so great, and i love stomping around and having silly little chitter-chatters with everyone. and telling everybody how amazing their demos were (they were) and thanking them. and telling everybody how i’m so happy they came and thank you and listening to their ideas about the computer and saying “pleeeeease submit a demo for next time!!!!!!” because they are all so cute and excited and interesting. and i love running it with lu and with mimi and i just can’t imagine a better setup. like 3⁄4 of the people were first time this time and it still felt like FoC, it was charged up and the air was vibrating and there was too much pizza.

and now i’m moving apartments to just a few minutes run from there. i know it’s just a few minutes run because i got to the event just as the drinks were arriving, and then i ran to the viewing, took the place, and ran back for setup and pizza. might be the first time i’ve run in a decade. oh! i almost forgot. another of my dreams came true. i stepped out in front of somebody’s car and they shouted “fucking bitch!” out the window. isn’t that wonderful? they wanted to hurt my feelings, but they did it on my terms. you feel me? i’m so cute and popular.

you think i’m never lonely because i’m so cute and popular?

okay so today we transition from the Wheel of Fortune to the Page of Swords and do you know what queen? maybe!

i’d had this rule with heroin ever since i was a teenager. i’d try it, but only ever in one v. specific scenario: somehow i’d come into posession of it, but had no idea how to acquire any more.

later on i’m twenty something. the summerhouse with nothing but a piano and a bed. but then fiancee, inevitable, and the leaving suddenly in the dark of night with grandfather’s whiskey. but there’s a party in the big house with the girls from the charity. i’m working my way through a line of coke and that extremely tall loud software engineer that josie likes comes in the room and tells me amy winehouse died.

at the end post wind down, there’s josie out on the steps leading up to the door. we sit beside each other for a while and look up at the stars. we kiss a little and say “this feels terrible” and “can we not do this again?”. i tell her i have nowhere to live and she invites me to stay in the room above her mother’s kitchen with nothing but a cello and a bed.

and i walk through the city as the sun starts to rise. “can i borrow your phone mate?” a guy on the corner of the street. he tells me im tryna call a guy to see if his wife’s gone so i can drop by. so i asked what he was buying? heroin. how much does that cost? he makes the call. took my cash, up the street and back with a bag and some advice: don’t take it.

and back to josie’s house and it’s a small room but warm and sometimes her mother comes in and teaches me a little cello. here’s how to hold a bow, how to turn it when you pull. i like the cello. i spent a few days snorting h, making websites for my first real web dev job, reading books and playing cello. i gathered my things and got on a plane to chicago where i would embark involuntarily upon the dark quinquennium. but yes, i can see the appeal. no pain, no anxiety, no world around at all, no fear, in heaven phasing through memories and imaginary worlds and always where you are, but chitter chatter with little sepia ghostlies as you maybe-here-maybe-don’t and all the while it’s like she’s holding you. at some point i threw up in a pizza box. papa john’s.

this week, though… i worked a lot. talked to some people. wrote little bits of songs i can never commit to record at least until they aren’t true anymore. i’m taking the next few days off to get every little thing in boxes. the kitchen’s pretty much done now. just need to trash one cupboard of trash. i am gonna have a lot of boxes. most of the apartments i’ve found so far may be too small to fit the boxes. i said, she said. eyes wet, cheeks red. goosebumps, deep breath. scruffy angel on, yes, the chopping block. bless her cotton socks. get the coffee pot, set your pocket watch, let a bottle rocket off. unless you lost a lot, i guess you walk it off. skyyyyrockets in flight, afternoon delight. of course that’s your contention you’re a first year hospitality student just got through eating some gastronomical schnitzel, cordon bleu probably. thrift store hunting, little driver seat, cooper, self preservation society, like homecoming, eurostar “get it?” like quantum physics (in your window). like quiet party, jerry springer messy— black and white, under water, up in the sky. jack up, rose up, car crash, hook line and sink and a day later, weak forty eight, two hours and forty drenched, but we’ll be okay, we can wait, eighty-eight and twenty-three (and three), ADH and LSD and R-QP. an hour a day five days a week keeps the doctor at bay, silent, asleep. quiet and sweet. try it and see. i’d like to be under the sea in an octopus’s garden in the summerhouse with nothing but a piano and a bed.