Abnormally warm today, in the low 60’s. Weird stuff. It doesn’t remind me of anywhere else on earth. It’s very unsettling.

I walked around in a daze shortly before twilight. Went up and down Halsted. Spending money, because I was bored. How pathetically American is that? Some new headphones (my old ones that I’ve had since freshman year of college cracked) and then up to Evil Clown and, despite myself, bought the soundtrack to “Waking Life” for $18. I almost despise myself for paying that much for a CD. But dammit I wanted it, and I haven’t been able to find it anywhere else. It IS awfully good.

Listened to that on my new headphones walking south, darkness beginning to soak the streets, vaguely hungry and precisely clueless. So I went to The Hungry Tomato and recklessly ordered a Coke and cheese tortellini. After I ate and drank everything I left $11 on the table and walked out the door.

Onwards to Osco, a book of stamps, an annoying slow man in front of me buying 2 packs of cigarettes and paying separately for each one using his debit card. Suddenly I had an almost overwhelming desire to be HOME, right NOW, out of the public! I almost screamed.

Finally I was home, silent phone, playing the CD, reading ‘The Wicked Pavilion’ by Dawn Powell. Darn it, she’s good. How come I’ve never heard of her before? If Paul Bowles wrote about New York instead, it would feel like this book. And now, like with Paul Bowles, I must read everything of hers eventually.

But I can’t read all night. I don’t want that. I’ve read 40 pages. To read anymore I’d hafta take my book somewhere else, order tea and sit there and read … that would mean going back to the coffeehouse (no thanks, I work at 10 am tomorrow) or going to Caribou across the street (fine tea but bad distracting 80’s ballads on the radio). If I don’t read I can watch ‘Thirty-two Short Films About Glenn Gould,’ which I rented. Watch the movie and drink wine. But no more to eat! Already full. There are stripes of fat on my body that I’ve never noticed before. Making me see myself at 40. Recent I suppose. Everything out there is a calorie delivery system.

It’s nearly 8 o’clock as I write this. No one online talking to me, or who I can possibly imagine talking to. My friends I can count on one hand. Bed early, rise early, coffee, new day started and same shade of work & boredom. But a nice soundtrack to everything. The CD is coming with me to work tomorrow. That and maybe Lester Young.