I didn’t turn a light on and I certainly didn’t play any music. I sat there in the beautiful silence, the wind gently humming through the window seams, the darkness just completing itself outside. I poured myself a glass of wine. I took out my antique French ashtray from a kitchen drawer and the cigarettes from the freezer. I lit one, I sipped the wine, and just sat there. It was gorgeous.
M—- was working so we didn’t have our usual Friday night date of sushi. And so I could have done anything I wanted. I thought of calling up B—- and inviting him over for a lesson. But the truth is I don’t think that will ever happen. He’s just not man enough. There is no allure. And anyway I don’t feel naughty or mischievous. I am consumed instead by my excitement over how close I am to running again, to working toward my goal, to the hard physical labour I love and that makes me feel so alive. It’s fun being bad and a brat but it comes in waves and presently the tide is out. I sit for a good long while like this, contemplative, peaceful, not knowing what time it is but absolutely understanding that it wasn’t moving. Not one second.
I have set up my old printer and bought the expensive ink it needs. It is too foolish and dangerous to print at work. However my shitty laptop is just too shitty to handle the functionality of a printer and I’m forced to realize that I will have to buy a new laptop soon. Ugh. A breakable thing instead of a breath of life also known as a life experience. A necessary evil. Fran Lebowitz would either applaud or abhor my being so engrossed in my phone. However! It’s for the sole purpose of writing. All of this has been written this way.
Well. The cigarette is done, a second glass of wine is poured. What to do. Perhaps I’ll masturbate, perhaps I’ll write a poem, perhaps I’ll read my book or do all three. But I won’t turn on a light. And I will not make a sound.