Friday, March 18, 2005 // 11:15 AM

pep talk
hello ella. the holiday is almost over, have you noticed? beyond this point you're going to go crazy with workload. hello. what, have you done, exactly, this holiday? haven't researched for history essay, haven't touched my math. hello being screwed, hello dis-organization. which is my entire life, and everything that i surround myself with, any way. i think you have had enough going out, i think you have spent enough money on utility, really. curb your media monster, please, it is going to consume your entire functionality.

i cant tear myself away from my book, i am certainly a kundera fan. but all i want to do is sit at a cafe reading and drinking coffee, the cinammon or irish cream kind. half a sugar two creams. until coffee is not coffee any more, but some strange and heavy concoction. how french, says sam, or rather, says sam's friend to sam to me, but it must have stuck somewhere in sam's mind, for he is the process through which the comparison bounces out at me. i have a thing for european writers. i want to do my work at a cafe, i want to procure a laptop and sit there all day typing away. because anything i do with a pencil and paper somehow or other ends up with absolutely no direction, it doesn't matter how many times i draft a piece, they all end up going astray, my train of thought across the page is waylaid by mysterious forces. i need a sudden stillness inside me, to work, it is a precarious state of mind that i am finding increasingly fleeting, increasingly elusive.

i am scrambled words, i am scrambled nothingness. i have not seen the morning for a week, how glorious a week it has been. i still want to shop, by the way, i cannot tear myself away. tear myself away from my physical self, it takes a certain self-restraint of which i am sorely, sorely lacking. shed your neediness, take some resonsibility, get your hands dirty!

i am sluggishness. i am a puddle of melted ice cream on the sidewalk. i am the egg you ate for breakfast, its yolk, soft and warm inside your belly. i am sloth, i am content, i am making my physical weakness seem like a nobler thing by putting it in these terms: i am divorcing reality. let the tigers come, with their claws! they are so far away as to permit me to say such things.

how quaint, i have immortalised you. i am catty in the morning.