9/8 Recap

8:30am-5:30pm: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Came home, read an entire book. Night Train by Martin Amis. Hated it.

Whitney called. She always cheers me up. Not that I was down. I was just typing up a poem. I think when you answer the question of "Watcha doin'?" with "Working on a poem," people automatically think you're depressed. Which I am. I mean. Not. (No really, I'm not). Whitney made fun of me saying that she's never met anyone who lived so much in her head. I asked her what she meant. She said, "You're always thinking. Or you're thinking about thinking. Or you're worrying about thinking about thinking. Or you're worrying about worrying about thinking about thinking." Wow. She makes me sound fucked up.

I forgot to tell you guys a story from Vegas. When I was in the Shark Reef, there was this hispanic family with a little boy who was about 2 years old. They kept putting him up on a ledge in front of the glass to take a picture and the boy would get scared. So as soon as his mom would let go and move away, instead of jamming his thumb into his mouth like most kids that age, he would jam his finger up his right nostril, looking TERRIFIED. I shit you not. I saw him do this twice.

Today's mood: having full conversations with people in my sleep