My mind is clear now

The sentient beings of the planet Noarth that call themselves Yohs are a genuinely happy bunch of craniums except they really do hate us because we're such slimy whiners.

Not poetry

This project is not futile.
Sleep is a fiction.
Fireworks are for soccer.
Language desинтегрируется.

This is not happening

I am home as planned, at 7 am. And where is she? Where is she, huh? She is supposed to be here -- up there -- pressing that damn button and letting me in! Is it possible that she hasn't heard the bell? I've rang twenty times already! Fine, I'll ring twenty more times! Wake up, you, idiot!! It's my house! I mean, what the hell? I let her stay, I give her the key, and I ask her to do just this one thing for me -- let me in! Let me in! Dude! I'm hungry, and tired, and need to go to the bathroom, and it's my house! My bed you're sleeping in! My bed, don't you get it? Get up! Get up, you lazy asshole. Oh, come on. What am I supposed to do, climb to the third floor window? Call my landlord? At 7 am? No way. Idiot. I'm an idiot for letting you in like this. So now you sleep in my bed, and I'm going to sleep right here, right underneath the door. At least I have my backpack with me. Something to put my head on.

Ice cream

We got ice cream in the inner grounds of the castle -- and Italian ice cream, of course. It was droopy to start with and we had to race to eat it before it melted all over our hands and arms and shirts and shoes. A. somehow managed to splatter her braid, but I was Okay. We climbed the tower and then got really thirsty and had to go out look for soda.

Route number 88

When Pete got fired by the bus company, he decided to handle his misfortune like a generous and a responsible individual for once. The smile would not leave his face until he got through the last conversation with admin and payroll people. He would finish off his route for the day, go home or maybe go to his sister's house for dinner, and then maybe stay the weekend playing with the kids, but then come back to his own place first thing Monday morning and start looking for a new job. So he did that. Everybody who got into his bus that Friday afternoon got a free ride. The persistent types who wanted to know why they didn't have to pay were told that "There is a type of a strike today."

Done

Bought games
Copied music
Borrowed HP7
Registered to vote absentee
Backup
Ate sushi
Got cash
passport
gum
floss?
Jitters?

Corner

My mind is hazy, and don't try to explain it away by blaming my diet or constitution. Sure, I had a glass of wine for dinner, so what? It's a hazy day in the neighborhood, and my mind acts accordingly. Computer says it's 11 degrees Celsius, dark and cloudy. Earlier today I saw a dead bird on the street. I was reading a New Yorker article, something about the homeless in LA. They call it the -- eh, too much effort to remember. I didn't finish the article. They made a movie about it. I found the magazine at the gym, and I saw the bird on the way to the gym. On the way back it was gone. Instead, the corner where I had seen the body (the dead bird's body) was littered with random pieces of clothing. There is always something on that corner. One day, there was a bunch of plants there. And a mattress. Somebody threw away a mattress. Thinking of this I am growing sufficiently sad to go to bed. Yes, I think it's bedtime. Good night.

The mall is not the devil

She is not afraid of the mall. She rarely shops there but when she does, there is no question of being intimidated by the overzealous salespeople. She never forgets that they are people. Would she like a massage? No, thank you, not right now. Try this facial skin mask from the Dead Sea mud? Why, thank you. Her cheeks could use a little extra something. It's only $40, discounted to $20 just for her! She appreciates the gesture, but she wasn't planning on buying this product today, so she won't. She has to sleep on it, to see what her cheeks feel like tomorrow. Will she come back to the mall tomorrow? Hah! Not very likely. But she is such a good shopper that yes, she might come back if she feels the mud is soothing enough and the deal is worth it. She'll come back and she'll bargain down to $10. No, really! God, I really do admire her so much!

A man badly in need of a shave

Dali mustache. That's all I can think about while the man is describing to me his trouble with the immigration law. Obviously, he needs help -- people generally come to my office in search for legal advice. This man sounded pleasant enough on the phone, when we scheduled the appointment. Who could've pictured the monstrosity on his upper lip? He said he was from -- Dali mustache. He's got a work permit and he wants to -- Dali mustache. I focus on the papers in front of me and for a moment they make sense. Right. H1/B. Trouble. An interview at the immigration office? Gray walls, plastic chairs. Dali mustache. Dali mustache.