I need to write it. Need to paint it. Need to feel it sitting on an overstuffed leather couch smoking a cigar.
Moscow is empty. Completely. I love it. My girlfriend and an old friend diagnosed me with an inability to feel loneliness. I agree. I love seeing people everywhere, and I love seeing nobody.
I am really quite excited for Le Mans this year.
The owner of one of my favorite coffee shops is a Cognitave psychologist and in my painting class. I am pretty sure I'm Existential Phenomenological. I can't ever define myself though. My girlfriend's mom says I am the wierdest conglomeration of traits a quirks she's ever met. I would agree but for a few of my poet friends. I just make up my own damn mind.
I need to wash dishes. I need to start my 18x24 watercolor. I need to finish my 13x14 watercolor. I need to start my 9x14 watercolor. I need a break.
Last night I almost didn't make it home from Cour D'Alene. I took a nap after class today.
I go back to work tomorrow, after 3 days off.
There is a lilac bush beneath my window that is roughly 4 m tall and around. It smells orgasmic.
I have a library book a week overdue in my hand. I love it too much to give it back.
A thunderstorm is coming. After yesterday, when we set a record high for temperature. My power already went out once at 6:23.