LIVEBLOG

MARCH 18, 2013

12:58AM: used only the word ‘approach,’ i think, from mom’s fake tao letter. dad walked out to hallway while brushing his teeth. a friend of a friend of his lived in rockaway park, near my potential future address, in the only house on the block undamaged by hurricane sandy. he asked if my building was by the bay or the ocean. doing something with my arms, i said ‘there’s one on each side, like, it’s five blocks wide, about five blocks.’ he repeated ‘five blocks’ and my arm motion, displaying the non-judgmentally proud face behind g.p.s. direction. the bathroom door opened after an amount of time i was retroactively embarrassed for having considered myself alone. for some reason suspected dad felt obligated to talk as he stood in the hall, describing a kind of therapy where the main thing is you scream in a room. he repeated ‘the release technique’ several times, with hair fluffily protruding in all directions, as if electrically charged.

1:15AM: small crisis. thought i’d lost security deposit check. sitting on the floor in the center of scattered apartment application-related papers, that colin recommended i organize in a binder for the selection committee people. typed ‘sup ipad’ in a long-un-responded-to gchat from ex-boyfriend. going to drive somewhere. 24-hour grocery store. buy folders and a stapler. brainstorm article ideas in car. seems important to stay in motion. ‘stay’ is funny/cute. that you can be ‘staying.’ imagining people in their rooms like how i’m in my room. anxiously imagined ex-boyfriend reading this. he wouldn’t want to read this much from me ever, i don’t think, and if he did it wouldn’t matter.

1:35AM: something that sounds like a piano playing notes at almost not-random, cinematic intervals is coming from either directly under me or behind my closet. sometimes it stops. feeling. i don’t know. i have a relationship with this liveblog now. everyone i’ve interacted with today has been so helpful and seemingly selfless. feel like reaching out to…something…thought ‘if there was something i could do with my arms.’

3:01AM: want sex badly. heard somewhere that if your cat is in heat and you put a q-tip up to her ass, she’ll back into it and be happy. i am so many miles from anyone i want to have sex with. currently enjoying sitting on heel and tentatively rolling. jesus. not horny enough to masturbate. missing something. everything is in order: the engine checks are finished, all passengers accounted for, weather and runway are clear, but this plane can’t fly without a co-pilot. actually i’m the co-pilot. yeah, it’s just the co-pilot here, i’m waiting on denzel, he’s still sleeping next to the pretty naked lady in a trashed motel room and it says ‘directed by: robert zemeckis’ at the bottom of the screen and slowly we learn the lady and denzel have been partying on alcohol and cocaine all night and soon denzel needs to fly an airplane. we do not yet know the lady is a stewardess who dies. at this point in the movie i didn’t know it wasn’t a true story. the movie is ‘flight.’ getting carried away. stopped being horny. thought ‘it all comes back to denzel.’

3:47AM: have not moved much. forgot i still need to write cover letter. pasted liveblog up until this update in microsoft word document, ‘LIVEBLOG.doc.’ i could easily write this much or more every day, i think. have been enjoying this. immediate plans: reapply sweater, drink energy drink, drive to 24-hour grocery store, buy stapler and folder, *have happy goodtime thinky thoughts on drive home get oh so inspired teehee*, eat adderall, write cover letter, write article.

considering eating a molly to make the time before cover letter more interesting. inspiration. goddamnit. should i…

4:10AM: ‘nah cause last time i did molly after addy binge it wasn’t that great from cross tolerance…but u know, u r the master of ur domain,’ masha tweeted. looked at ‘cross tolerance’ and thought something about bees that did not bode well. not going to eat the molly. will be less functional tomorrow if i eat the molly. want to eat the molly. pictured baby animatronic dinosaur from 90’s TV show saying ‘not the molly,’ freezing for a horror movie interval, shaking something at me antagonistically.

4:34AM: short gchat with ex-boyfriend. something felt upsetting but neither of us explicitly said what. maybe he wasn’t upset. he’s at our apartment in philadelphia. feel like he thinks i forgot him or something. leaving mom’s now.

5:05am: opened/closed kitchen cabinets quietly. Drank swigs of antacid while responding to texts from Mira, Sam Cooke, Willis, Alex. Willis is responding.

5:10am: thought ‘at least it’s warm outside’ walking down stairs. Opened door and was struck with coldness and overpowering ‘wet dog nose’/saliva-like smell that trailed into car a little. Turned key in ignition. Texted Willis about the smell, thinking we’d riff about it to better endure it together. He responded normally. Texted ‘Going to concentrate on driving now.’ Car feels lower to the ground than normal. Merging onto 695E. Checked email. Irritated at mass ‘Matt Monarch’ raw food newsletter. Remembered tweet by Ellen Kennedy like ‘I am responsible for the zero emails in my inbox,’ I feel that.

6:00am: read liveblog from beginning while driving full circle around the Baltimore-Washington beltway. Tired, physically. Inner monologue is whining things like ‘this is easy for other people, other people just do things, other people would’ve had a folder and a stapler by now.’ Replaying memories of Sam Pink from a few days ago: somewhere in Brooklyn, looking for my car. Talking about how it’s stupid when people freak out when they’re late and already on the way to the destination, so there’s nothing to do but wait to arrive—which is relaxing, and feels kind of special. Me saying ‘wish I had a voodoo grandma,’ him saying something indicating he understood, or at least didn’t want to stop talking. Seeing him in ‘distractingly free of associations shirt’ and noticing the color of his eyes for maybe the first time before the Housing Works reading, thinking ‘what do I say,’ doing some kind of brief physical greeting with him and feeling wetness on my face, but not near parts that normally become wet. Eyes looked gray, then more brown. I don’t notice eyes unless it looks like someone is behind them, controlling where they look. Sam has eyes like that. Wonder if he’s reading this. Seems 15-60% likely. The sky is dark and morning commute cars are on the road. I never assume people like me are on the road. Lost wandering shitheads. Wish there was a Grindr-like iPhone app for lost wandering shitheads, so you could locate others. I probably wouldn’t use it.

6:14am: removed foot from gas pedal ‘for fun.’ Nearing 24-hour grocery store and house where I lived, ages 10-22. At stoplight heard birds tweeting stereotypically. Still dark outside. Large bald man with reflective tape on his back is walking on shoulder of road.

6:20am: braked to let truck merge in front of me, feeling a familiar pang of loss/envy/regret. Like, ‘there goes the life of adventure and financial and temporary existential certainty I was too much of a drifting loser to attain.’ Feel like truck drivers know this about me and can sense waves of inefficiency evaporating through my roof. I thought I wanted to drive trucks. I have a Class-A commercial driver’s license. At my first and only interview drugs showed in my pee test and I didn’t have an excuse and I got scared and gave up. There. I said it. Unsure if I’ll drive trucks in the future. Maybe I haven’t failed completely yet. I don’t know what I want. Life is so long. I just want to be okay. Feel close to crying now, in car parked in grocery store parking lot. Thinking about how to type location replaced urge to cry. Car parked near me has had its headlights on this entire time. Achy body. Okay. Going inside store.

6:37am: still sitting here. Getting colder. Headlights car has ‘finally’ left. Afraid to go inside for some reason. Might just drive home, come back later. Yes I feel good thinking that: going to come back later. Stomach is burning again goddamnit.

6:46am: street lights against navy blue sky are making trees look orange. Pretty. Still sitting here. Temperature in car feels the same as outside. Focusing too much on liveblog. Need to refocus.

6:48am: turned head and caught a whiff of me. Thought ‘hey I smell okay’ like it was the catchphrase of a Saturday morning kids TV show theme song. The music would take a sudden turn and almost stop, then a balding man in a sweatshirt would pop out from behind a cardboard tree and say ‘hey I smell okay.’ After a ‘crucial pause,’ the offscreen characters would gather in a circle to sing the refrain and the sweatshirt man would like, run to join them, ‘late as usual,’ trailed by an animation that becomes an exclamation point at the end of the title graphic. This would happen before every episode.

6:53am: need to refocus.

6:56am: driving out of the parking lot now, can’t believe I just did this, I just sat there the whole time oh my god. Lawdy lawdy honeychile, shoot. Sittin’ there. Shoot. Peace be witchoo honeychile.

7:04am: would be funny if that was the last thing I’d type before a fatal car collision. Or if this was the last thing. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Okay guess it’s not going to happen.

7:08am: OR THIS!!!!!!!!!

7:09am: laughed really loud. For maybe three seconds.

7:11am: ‘three seconds’ is not a comment on…nevermind…

7:18am: Maybe I am ready for the grocery store now. I might just be. Pictured a chuckling Barack Obama finding my eyes in a crowd, saying ‘yes you can’ to America, moving closer to me with a concerned face, placing his hand on my shoulder, saying ‘yes. You can,’ gesturing to his watch and mouthing ‘it’s time’ with a wink.

7:36am: I am turning around. I am not ready for the grocery store yet. It is wise that I know this. I don’t want to waste my time. Oh my god. Laughing silently at me, retreating home, this needs to stop, almost out of gas.

7:39am: realized I’ve been taking this ‘time is valuable and I am wasting it’ thing too seriously, which seems related to why I yearn for long stretches of zero obligations. This is not new information. Nothing I do means anything, like in the spectrum of things…all possible outcomes are ultimately death. Nothing is permanent. For me to want to stay alive I have to forget that, otherwise I won’t feel motivated to do things. That always feels like lying, a little. Think I just want to be a kid forever, that’s what I really want. Doesn’t make sense to do all this other shit. Would like to be a ‘kept woman.’ I forget what that means. I think it’s what I want.

7:47am: turned left onto street of childhood house. Interesting timing. In someone’s yard, a small white dog running to the end of a leash tied to a pole. Walking towards bus stop, a girl who seems cooler and prettier and somehow older than I was when I was however old she is, touching her long straight blonde hair. Thought I’d be feeling something poignant related to childhood by now.

7:57am: would be funny to buy a cop car and just like, drive it.

8:20am: pulled next to the only free pump at BP. Squeezed/shimmied to exit car, due to parking too close to hard-to-describe fixture I see a lot at gas stations. Felt certain I’d locked keys in car. Pictured impending future where I’d need to call a locksmith, with my phone locked in the car. Across the street is the Jiffy Lube where a few weeks ago I got my oil changed before driving to New York to hang out with ex-boyfriend—cat-sitting for Adam and Lauren—and maybe look for apartments. Feels like I’ve had multiple birthdays since then. Three men in one-piece Jiffy Lube uniforms are smoking cigarettes by the garage. Looks like an Edward Hopper painting. Wish I was one of them.

8:28am: I have been smoking the shit out of this pack of cigarettes. Five remain from pack I opened earlier tonight.

8:31am: I don’t know why I always dread pulling into a driveway or seeing my apartment building when walking or any of the other ways I’ve arrived home. Always feel better when I’m on the way to somewhere.

8:36am: made fun of myself in a mean-spirited way while watching fingers type ‘8:36am.’

8:38am: ‘in case you are just tuning in,’ here is what happened: around 2AM I started enjoying writing to generate content for a liveblog designed to stop me from getting in my own way. I guess at least I feel like I’ve been doing something, which is better than how I usually feel.

9:02AM: walked inside. retrieved green juice from fridge and drank more liquid antacid. ate 20mg adderall and scanned for small edits. feels okay to be doing this, like i’m preparing for something.

9:47AM: heard dad move around and coffee start dripping. want another cigarette. want to just turn this in as my ‘everything i owe to everyone.’ just remembered title of everclear song incorrectly as ‘everything to everyone.’ no wait, that’s right i think. maybe it is time to try the grocery store again. feel like if it were sunny outside and i was waking to my cats walking on my stomach on a mattress near the smell of a person i like, things would be different. think that’s all i want. i don’t even want sex that much, i just want to always be near the smell of someone i like, whose presence is like equal parts ‘hallucinogen’ and ‘antidepressant’ and ‘anxiolytic,’ like i can just look at them and think ‘great, now they’re here, time for me to sit back and listen to all the surprises.’ that sounds lazy maybe. i want them to want a person like that too so i can be like that for them too. doesn’t seem real or possible. think i’m always on the verge of experiencing one of two extremes about other people. have experienced these rare insane manic connections, like ‘beyond my wildest dreams’-style connections, which i’ve probably only felt so intensely because i’ve wanted to feel that way (often remember things and think ‘you were just ignoring something so you could feel something else’). on a chart about how i feel most of the time most of my dots would be in the middle-to-‘opposite of intensely connected to people’ spectrum. when the opposite thing feels extreme it also seems attributable to disappointments about close relationships, but think it for real only involves other people to the extent that my ideas about their intentions are caused by this arcane primal fear that always seems to be experiencing itself over and over from some hidden location in me, syncing infrequently with my awareness, more often surfacing as a vague and nearly-constant desire to apologize for something i’ve done, will probably do, or have already and unstoppably been doing ‘this whole time,’ just by being alive. but neither of those feelings, even the extreme connection thing, have anything to do with other people, i don’t think. they are both supposed to be feelings about other people but they are both about me. think it’s impossible for me to be close with someone in the way i think i want to be, or that most people are, or that i’ve thought i’ve been or something. the ‘sit back and listen to all the surprises’ thing seems more hopeful than the ‘maintaining extreme closeness over time’ thing, for me. like, if there’s going to be anything. actually it might be the same thing. i don’t know. like ‘even when i’m so connected i’m always so alone and so tortured by a fear which cannot be expressed clearly’ or whatever it is i’m saying with this bullshit—like, what is the point? would it logically follow that the the point of ‘feeling connected’ to someone would be to just continue feeling so similar that you eventually sort of become them, but then you’d just be the same thing, which is the same thing as being alone? MAN FUCK THIS SHIT MAN LISTEN TO THIS BITCH OVER HERE, ACTIN ALL LIKE IT’S 9:47AM BUT IT’S 1:51PM AND SHE TWERKIN ON ADDERALL AND NO SLEEP TRYNA MAKE A FUCKIN SHIT ASS SENTENCE MAKE SENSE THAT DON’T EVEN MATTER LIKE WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN NOW BITCH, NICE SENTENCE, WHERE THAT $1,000,000,000,000 CHECK? WHERE THAT PENTHOUSE AT? AIN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO WIN THE GRAMMYS OR SOME SHIT NOW YOU BITCH ASS WRITIN THIS GODDAMNED SENTENCE FOR TWO HOURS? HM? SMELL YOUR GODDAMN ARMPIT. THAT’S RIGHT. SMELL ON THAT A MINUTE. MMHMM. THAT’S RIGHT. THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT. YEAH I THINK IT’S TIME TO GO TO THAT GROCERY STORE. I THINK IT’S TIME TO GO TO THAT FUCKIN GROCERY STORE FUCKIN SEVEN HOURS AGO WHEN YOU WAS ALL ‘TEEHEE GOING TO GET A STAPLER AND A FOLDER NOW BECAUSE THOSE ARE THINGS THAT I WANT AND NEED OH BOY LOOK AT ME GO!’ YOU BETTER HOPE I DON’T LOOK IN A MIRROR SOON BECAUSE BITCH, IF I SEE YOU LOOKIN BACK AT ME, YOU AND ME IS BOTH IN PIECES. P-I-E-C-E-S. I THINK YOU KNOW I AIN’T TALKING REESES BUT NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, FUCK YOU YOU STUPID SKINNY ASS HO, GETTIN ALL PROUD WHEN YOU BE STARVIN YOUR SKINNY ASS SAYIN ‘IT’S HEALTHY’ OR SOME SHIT. I WANNA STRAIGHT UP X-RAY THE SHIT OUT YOUR HEALTHY ASS ROTTEN ASS DIGESTIVE TRACK, SHOW A BITCH WHAT HEALTHY IS. GET Y’ALL FUCKED UP STOMACH AND ‘TESTINES UP HERE ON THE COUCH WITH ME SO YOU CAN SEE FOR YOURSELF ALL THEM HOLES YOU BE MAKIN THAT GOT YOU SIPPIN ON THAT ANTACID! BITCH—NOW I KNOW YOUR ASS GOT NO PLACE TO GO BUT THE FLOOR AND NOT CAUSE YOU AT THE CLUB—AND YEAH, SOMETHIN BOUT YOUR LEGS UH, THEY JUST NASTY, UH, I DON’T KNOW, SHIT DON’T LOOK HUMAN TO ME PERSONALLY—BUT GET THAT SHIT TOGETHER! THAT SHIT’S THE ONLY SHIT YOU GOT! YOU STUCK IN THIS SHIT! OH YOU WHININ WITH SOME LONG SENTENCES BOUT HOW YOU SO LONELY OH YOU SO SAD AND ALONE I SEE UH WELL UH, UH, SEE HERE M’AM, YOU ARE USING DRUGS TO THE EXTENT, UH, M’AM, ALSO WITH THIS UH, YOU SEE, THIS UH, M’AM YOU EAT THIS FOOD AND THEN YOU VOMIT, THEN UH, THE LAXATIVES, YOU SEE? M’AM, AND THE CIGARETTES? UH, M’AM, AND FOR HOW MANY YEARS? YOU SEE WHERE I’M GOING WITH THIS M’AM? M’AM? OKAY GREAT GLAD YOU SEE, GLAD YOU SEE, OKAY. GREAT. GREAT, WELL THIS IS GREAT BECAUSE ALL OF THIS HAS BEEN IN AN EFFORT TO TELL YOU THAT IT WAS ALL A MISUNDERSTANDING. WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY. IF YOU LOOK OUT THE WINDOW YOU WILL SEE THE CAR WE HAVE PREPARED. REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE? THIS JOB? YOU TOOK THIS JOB, REMEMBER? YOU ARE A PROFESSIONAL FAMOUS ACTOR? YEAH MAN. HELL YEAH MAN! FIVE YEARS MAN, WELCOME BACK! YOU JUST GOT SO DEEP INTO THIS ROLE. METHOD ACTING. YEAH. YOU GOT SO DEEP INTO METHOD ACTING ‘THE TERRIBLE TRAGEDY OF MEGAN BOYLE’ THAT YOU FORGOT YOUR OWN IDENTITY. RELENTLESS, MAN. YOU. ARE. RELENTLESS. YOU EVEN CONVINCED YOURSELF YOU OVERDOSED AND KILLED YOURSELF IN SOME APARTMENT IN MANHATTAN—TO IDENTIFY WITH HER, WE THINK. WE THINK THAT’S WHY YOU DID THAT. YEAH, IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE YOU’VE TALKED TO ANYONE. YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE IN A ‘BATMAN’ MOVIE. NO, NO, THAT OTHER GUY ISN’T REAL, WE DON’T KNOW WHY YOU DID THAT, SOME PEOPLE ARE SAYING YOU MADE UP THIS OTHER VERSION OF YOURSELF—THIS ALTERNATE MEDIA REALITY OR SOMETHING—IT’S COMPLICATED, I DON’T FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS—YOU CONVINCED YOURSELF YOU WERE THE ‘YOU’ YOU THOUGHT YOUR CHARACTER WANTED TO SEE. RELENTLESS. AND I MEAN, SAD STORY AND ALL BUT SHE REALLY DIDN’T SEE THINGS TOO UH, HOW DO YOU SAY, ‘CLEARLY,’ HAHA, AM I RIGHT? YOU JUST NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND. YEAH MAN. THERE’S A LINE IN THE MOVIE, SHE SAYS SOMETHING LIKE ‘WHY ARE YOU SO SERIOUS?’ YOU REALLY TOOK OFF WITH THAT. YOU DIDN’T GET WHY SHE SAID THAT, YOU KNOW, WITH HER BEING SO SERIOUS ALL THE TIME. SO THEN YOU MADE UP THIS THING ABOUT HOW THERE WAS A NEW ‘BATMAN’ MOVIE AND HER REAL MOTIVATION IN THE SCENE WAS ALL ABOUT HOW SHE THOUGHT SHE SOUNDED LIKE AN IDIOT MISQUOTING THE JOKER, PLAYED BY YOU, WHO WAS ALSO HER, IN HER MIND, AND NONE OF YOU WERE ACTING ANYTHING LIKE JACK NICHOLSON. MAN IT’S SOME CRAZY SHIT. YOU GOTTA SEE THE TAPES. FUCKING 2008 MAN, IT’S BEEN A LONG ASS TIME! GOOD TO HAVE YOU BACK!

10:32AM: heard dad’s slippers approaching on carpet. he asked if i wanted coffee. i said ‘not right now, thank you though.’ he said something about it being very fresh as the sound of his slippers reversed direction. mom also asks if i want coffee whenever she makes it. i’ve responded with ‘i’ll get it if i want it’ in varying tones of annoyance, sometimes leading to a heightened argument about ‘being considerate.’ a few months ago i decided it’s better for everyone if i just say ‘not right now, thank you’ or ‘smells good, thank you, maybe later.’ for some reason i never want it when they ask me, but sometimes less than a minute later i’ll get it myself, stepping as softly as i can, trying to be unnoticeable as i pour a cup of ‘my little secret’ which i carry back to my room, where i feel about six years old. this happens every time. i don’t know how to stop it unless people stop asking me if i want coffee but no one is ever going to stop.

10:51AM: walked softly to kitchen. drank liquid antacid. mimed pouring capped antacid container into coffee mug and said ‘do you think it’d be good if i used it, you know, used it like this, for coffee’ to dad, nowhere to be seen. started to say more and was stopped by a rustling noise. dad emerged from a hidden corner-area, holding a newspaper. he said ‘what now?’ i said ‘oh like, used this for cream? it’d be a creamer substitute, this stuff, you know.’ dad looked confused. i said ‘i don’t even like cream, so. this would be especially bad,’ gesturing to the antacid. he didn’t move for a moment, then seemed to ‘get it’ and made a joke. a little later he asked for my permission to show me an article about how irish people behave in the morning. he said ‘your ancestors, you know. irish heritage. it’s here if you want it.’ withheld urge to remind him he doesn’t need to ask my permission. knew i wouldn’t read article, felt guilty/sad. i said ‘maybe later, i’m on a roll now, doing things.’ he asked what things. i told him i’d been writing in this liveblog for most of the night and now i wanted to ‘knuckle down’ and do other things. felt really guilty. it was hard to walk back to my room. we kept saying things. i said ‘but i think first i need to rest, you know, rest before i knuckle down.’ dad said ‘of course.’ felt really, really guilty.

11:07AM: peed and thought things like ‘did i respond to colin’s texts’ in the same neutrally focused ‘tone’ of the pee, which stopped when the pee stopped.

11:12AM: can’t find liquid antacid. keep wretching and swallowing prevomit stomach acid. last food eaten was raspberry cookies, over 24 hours ago.

3:19PM: want to be talking in insane unprecedented 9:47AM update voice all the time. funny to read 11:12AM update after writing insane update.

4:29PM: sitting on bed. liveblog seems unhealthy. afraid to re-read things that aren’t the all-caps thing. all-caps thing seems like the only ‘good thing’ about this, maybe, right now, to me. i don’t know.

REMINDER OF MY GOAL: TO LIVEBLOG DAILY ACTIVITIES WITHOUT PRIVACY AS A FORM OF NEGATIVE REINFORCEMENT, TO ‘ACT BETTER’

don’t really know what i meant by ‘act better.’ ‘get things done?’ i don’t know. i don’t know. it is raining. i am going to the grocery store. WHEN I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE I WILL WALK IN THE DOOR AND BUY THE THINGS I SAID I WOULD BUY, THEN I WILL LEAVE. MY DEAR CHILD, WHAT EVER STOPPED YOU FROM DOING SUCH PRACTICAL THINGS? seems so pointless…this entire thing…entire…jesus…laughing…wish someone would call me on the phone…kind of…

4:45PM: looked at phone, which has five missed calls, one voicemail, two texts. ‘rimshot.’

5:35PM: heard shower water stop running, then shower head made a hilarious long noise that i could probably imitate if you called me. email me for my phone number. would hang up immediately after making the noise. serious inquiries only. hope some compassionate person from the year 6013 finds and reads all of this and comes back in time to kill me relatively painlessly when i leave the house in a few minutes. wrote this paragraph to prove ‘you can still sound a certain way if you try, you don’t feel as bad as you thought’ to myself. making the shower noise at people on the phone then hanging up would also improve mood

if you’re going to do it, when i pick up the phone say ‘shower’ so i won’t make the noise to colin or someone else who’s supposed to call me about the apartment

no one is going to do this

just made the noise really quietly, i’m laughing, i’m practicing it for you shitheads, come at me

doing it again

did not laugh at all that time

6:19PM: someone called. this is what was said:

me: hello?

person: hi megan, i was wondering if you could do the shower noise at me?

me: oh man i think i kind of forget. i’m going to hang up right after.

person: ok

me: [makes noise, hangs up]

i’m still shaking from laughing from getting to do this. thank you, whoever called.

6:23PM: phone rang as i was typing previous update. i got really excited. it was dad. unknown number from portland oregon called and i said ‘hello’ in a playful way, extending ‘lo.’ docile confused older woman’s voice asked about my health insurance. seems like someone is giving my phone number to telemarketers and saying i was born 3/29/72. COME AT ME BRO I LIKE PHONE CALLS I’LL CORRECT TELEMARKETERS ON THE PHONE ALL DAY LONG WATCH ME.

6:29PM: responded to texts from mira and masha. stored masha’s number in my phone. person who called me asking for shower noise texted ‘how many people have called for the noise.’ i replied ‘just you.’ wanted to keep going like, ‘just you, just you baby, it’s always been you, only you, this entire time, you know it’s true’ but have them read it and it sounds like elvis.

6:49PM: something just happened. mom showed me this thing. apparently dad had ordered her this thing, it just showed up in the mail. she asked me to guess what it was. then it seemed like she wasn’t going to wait for me to guess. wanted badly to guess. could tell guessing what this thing was would be the highlight of my day. mom kept squeezing its handle at me and this little rubber mouth would move. it was a sphincter-like movement. then this happened:

mom: [comes at me with thing, pressing handle, cackling]

me: no get the jebadoh away

mom: what?

me: i said jebadoh, but i meant ‘jedi’

mom: oh my god

[somehow deduced this thing is used for something pertaining to the toilet, goddamnit now i forget, was laughing in a manner like i was gasping for air this whole time, i asked ‘if you don’t wash your hands before you use it, will people stop being your friend’ and mom said ‘yes’ and i laughed more, somehow deduced this thing is designed to grasp toilet paper and aid in ass wiping, it’s an ass wiper, couldn’t stop laughing]

mom: your dad saw it in one of those tacky catalogs he likes, you know, like ‘robin wright…’

me: are you going to say ‘robin wright penn’

mom: well or you know, it’s something like that, ‘wright’

me: sean penn’s wife, robin wright penn

mom: there’s a catalog called ‘robin wright’

me: asswipes, robin wright penn [can’t stop laughing]

mom: it’s ‘walter drake’

me: walter drake, harriet carter [can’t stop laughing]

i know the feeling of reading about how someone laughed. i hate that feeling but too bad. going to read this over and over again all by myself and laugh forever and ever.

8:52pm: stood in kitchen leaning on counter, looking at phone. Mom said ‘what are you doing? Are you just standing quietly?’

8:55pm: asked mom what the movie she wanted to watch at 9pm was called. She didn’t remember. Said ‘I bet you’ll remember when I get back’ in a strange voice as I descended stairs. Locked door. Those would be really good last words. ‘I bet you’ll remember when I get back.’ Actually might be better for murdering, in murder situations, murder-specific.

8:56pm: trying to see through rainy windshield. Driving to dad’s to procure Adderall. Squinted and felt like Wayne knight when his Jeep breaks down in ‘Jurassic Park.’ Mistaking a lot of things for other things. I know people like to shittalk how people say ‘feel like’ and ‘seems like.’ That’s all. Just, know that I know that. I know you do that. I’m watching you.

9:08pm: haven’t slept in so long. Feel like I’m dying. Pictured annoying Zen figure hitting my head with a stick and saying ‘you are.’

9:34pm: mental functions seems rapidly deteriorating. Van in front of me says ‘your next car: PenskeCar.com’ but I mean is that really my next car gotta give them a call

9:42pm: got lost somehow. going to dad’s apartment is what i’m doing, on the way to do. pulled into CVS parking lot to re-calibrate GPS. Thinking things like ‘certains’ and ‘chumly’ and ‘fiendish’ and ‘barnaby the string eater’ looking at apple right now how’d this apple get here

9:44pm: ended voicemail to Colin with ‘okay, bye-bye.’

9:52pm: going to type what I’m thinking in rapid succession: I’m losing it, my marbles, off my rocker, rocking out, heavy metal garage band, toy boat, where my dads, blinky buttress, that show on MTV with Matt Pinfield, did I ever mow the lawn completely, mow mow, mowrats, the momeraths out grabe, powpowpower wheels, dicey jukebox, the hellish landscapes of a Peruvian metal crisis, financial distress

11:36pm: somehow was capable of having heated vague two-hour conversation with dad about problems with our interactions, which ended with us hugging a few times and making jokes. When I walked through door dad almost immediately presented me with ‘Mindfulness and Depression’ CD and other things in a hurried manner, repeating himself a lot, pointing to his credit report and explaining things as if I was the person who would be assessing it, but it was like he thought he was ‘in trouble’ with me and forgot who I was. Instead of nodding and being quiet so it would be over soon, I said ‘when you explain and repeat things and give unsolicited help I feel like it means you think I don’t understand and need to be fixed, so I’m sort of a failure, and since I’m a failure it might mean you think you failed at parenting me or something. I worry about that, I feel guilty or something.’ Remember saying ‘when I can tell someone is anxious about talking with me and seems to mostly want my approval, I don’t feel comfortable, I act fake and nod my head, I wish I didn’t feel like doing that with you.’ Talked about how I don’t like it when he asks for ‘permission to interrupt me’ before he comes into whatever room I’m in, even though I say ‘just always come in, it’s always okay’ and have been telling him this for years. Said ‘I feel like if someone I liked told me I didn’t need to be anxious around them I’d be happy.’ Told him his asking permission sometimes seems sarcastic because I thought he knew I was never doing anything important. He denied the sarcasm strongly. He has always thought I’ve been doing something important. How could he think that. I believe him, but. What a disappointment I must be. He was generally receptive, asked questions, and voiced problems with me too (mostly related to my problems with him, which is a similar dynamic I’ve experienced in relationships, which is…I don’t know). Feel like a little tyrant or something, typing this—like he is kind and generous and wants good things for me, so I shouldn’t have problems. Told him that and he expressed a strong preference for me not keep problems to myself. It’s always sort of hard to remember exactly what dad says. He uses a lot of generalizations and nonspecific buzzword-style language, like ‘the self’ and ‘being for the sake of being’ and pronounces some pronouns with capital letters.

At one point he said something about how mom is emotional but he feels flat all of the time. Without looking away, I said ‘you seem sad to me.’ He nodded slowly, shrugged and pressed his lips together. I wanted to do something to help. Looked around his apartment and thought about how he has thought about places for all his things to go and has arranged them on purpose. Like an area of slightly different Harley Davidson and Beatles gift-y things given to him by the same people, little statues and toys in a line on a mantle, unopened snack boxes in a line and back-ups of the snacks in the pantry, copies of CDs and self-help books and manila folders stacked carefully in neat piles, affirmations and phone numbers on post-its stuck in unusual places, a large variety of pens, an expensive-looking TV which I think he bought because he thinks mom likes TV and we used to watch movies as a family, when we lived in the same house. He sometimes refers to it as ‘the entertainment center’ and talks about how good the sound is. On a bookcase in his bedroom, too large to fit on the shelves, there is a professionally colored-in, formerly black-and-white photo of him smiling in a Navy uniform in 1957 or 1958, I think, between two bouquets of fake flowers all touching the ceiling, which feels especially sad to me—not in a pitiful way—in a way that makes me want to make his life better for him and wish that things could’ve been better.

MARCH 19, 2013

12:16am: have returned to parking lot of 24-hour grocery store. Driving here I felt strongly that I wouldn’t go inside. People are sitting by the inoperable entrance smoking and talking. Can hear them as if they were a radio station in my car. Just thought it was possible to press something on my phone to immediately ‘show you this.’

12:18am: more employees have come to sit at the operable entrance, at tables under umbrellas. I’m shivering. I’m inside the store. I need to find folders and a stapler. A hole punch. Energy drink. Shivering. I haven’t eaten today or slept since whenever I last mentioned it in liveblog. Pronounced it ‘live-[rhymes with boaje]’ in my head, like, French. French-Canadian.

12:24am: a Paula Abdul song is playing. Have been holding this folder option and staring at it in disbelief, sometimes making little noises, for as long as song has been playing. About 90 seconds into the song now, safe estimate. Paralyzed by the hilarity of this thing. It says ‘title page pocket’ about the title page pocket and it shows you a picture of it too. Unbelievable. My hands holding a picture of hands holding the folder I’m about to buy. Look at the all the hands. Oh my god…

12:30am: now ‘Simply the Best’ by Tina Turner is playing. Keep gawking and laughing at things, like, how is this what I’m seeing—‘party time,’ ‘married for life,’ ‘go for it.’ All of this seems specifically arranged just for me, right now. Aware of being store’s only observable customer, who appears more concerned with her phone than shopping. Moving only to avoid looking suspicious. Trying to walk with purpose. Sensed a person nearing me and narrowed my eyes ceiling-ward, like the lyrics of ‘Simply the Best’ were making me look elsewhere to more seriously contemplate them, because this is something I thought ‘normal people’ would do.

12:33am: old man pushing large wheeled machine looked me in the eye like he was thinking ‘Christ, I’d wish you well but what’s the use’ as we passed each other. Selected a Monster ‘Absolutely Zero’ energy drink. Absolutely zero. Simply the best.

12:35am: used automated self-checkout to pay.

12:36am: a shitty philosophy class would have ‘photo of barcode on red bull can next to actual barcode: which is more real?’ on the syllabus. I could teach the shit out of that class right now.

12:38am: an example of something ‘basic’ that isn’t widely regarded as ‘basic’ yet: the set-up of pressing the ‘no, that’s not ok’ option on an ATM screen and instead of printing your receipt the ATM responds by arguing with you.

12:40am: sitting in parking lot again. Forgot to mention I’ve been eating a birth control pill every night around this time. Seems like a weird time to mention my coat smells like dad’s cologne but hey I don’t make this shit happen I just write it down.

12:52am: driving to mom’s. Seems highly unlikely that I’ll sleep tonight if I don’t eat Xanax. If I eat the Xanax I will sleep really hard and probably hit ‘snooze’ too many times and miss appointment with Colin tomorrow in NYC. We’re meeting so I can give him my apartment-garnering portfolio binder thing at 12:30pm. That is less than 12 hours from now. Four of those hours will be driving. Traffic. Consider showering and dressing, that takes time also. Should I eat the Molly now. Goddamnit. I have six Mollies. Should I eat one, then eat remaining adderall to drive? Seems like a good conservation of uppers. Megan Boyle: noted uppers conservationist. Uppers activist. Sleepless shivering retard. Molly-eating seems so inevitable now, like being secretly gay and locked in an elevator with the man you’ve loved since ‘the war,’ who you know loves you too.

1:04am: when my body aches like this I feel like it’s getting stronger. Does anyone know anyone know if being awake for a long time counts as exercise? Should I keep driving so I can smoke another cigarette? Shit. No it’s time to end this hell.

1:24AM: arrived home. pooped twice. washed face and brushed teeth and did more boring things. hugged mom, who was watching ‘the mary tyler moore show’ in bed. tried on t-shirt dad gave me. dad said he donated money to some people so they could arrange a memorial concert for a dead friend and they made t-shirts and gave him one. i like everything about the shirt.

1:35AM: counted only five molly pills in light blue pill container. paced between the kitchen and bedroom, not taking time to look at anything. counted again. rampant molly outbreak. rampant. keep thinking ‘rampant.’ in order to be in new york by 12:30PM i should be awake by 7AM and out the door by 7:30AM.

1:45AM: blended kale with citrus kombucha. the cord kept falling out of the plug. blender sounded louder with each subsequent plug-in. took smallish sips and felt healthier. stopped being able to drink it without wretching. poured remaining 15-20% down the drain and remembered inside joke with former best friend. we’d raise our hands in a surrendering motion while shaking our heads and matter-of-fact-ly saying ‘can’t do it,’ imitating colin farrell’s character in a recent but seemingly widely forgotten woody allen movie about boats. we saw it in a theater. can’t remember anything else about movie. ‘can’t do it.’ slight british accent.

2:00AM: experimentally used porky pig voice to say ‘ba-theeba-theeba-theeba that’s all folks’ to mom, indicating the end of loud blender noises. she said ‘what?’ walked to her bedroom door and stood, using my hand to mime a diminishing circle, which i then poked my head through (like at the end of looney tunes), then repeated ‘ba-theeba-theeba-theeba that’s all folks,’ enunciating the sounds slower. unsure if she ‘got it.’ had thought ‘surely she would ‘get this" but now it’s hard to say. refilled kombucha bottle with water.

2:26AM: responded to text from mira. swallowed the molly. ‘here we go.’ okay.

2:53AM: felt heart beating extremely hard all of a sudden. palms are sweating. was typing/elaborating on earlier thing about dad’s apartment and thought my body was having a physical reaction to emotions but then remembered eating molly. shivering. shit. shit. shit. feel. shit. unable to. shit. what do i have to do. it’s going to be hard or something, the thing i have to do. looked around room suspiciously, like, expecting it to answer me, then eyes landed on unopened sugar-free red bull propped against my crotch, looking up at me sexily. doolooodobbooboob.

if 8oz sugar-free red bull can was a person: would look like the guy from that band handsome furs. just picked it up. it is very feathery and light. it might be lurch from ‘the addams family.’ do you guys get it, the person i’m trying to say it’s like? heart is beating definitely faster.

can’t tell if i’m supposed to be capitalizing things anymore. molly. thought ‘molly’ and laughed self-consciously, like i was supposed to be laughing, like someone was watching me be on molly and contemplate ‘molly.’

if my hands were a person: jesus.

jesus.

they would be a wet person.

made all ten fingers do ‘the wave.’ the sound is like…pictured a well, like what kids get thrown down into, and like, a cave with a low grassy entrance with white flowers around it like where i used to imagine they kept jesus before he came back to life.

feel afraid of religious things right now. imagining hell, actual hell. no. i just wrote that, i’m not going to imagine it. shit. starting to imagine. idea virus of imagining hell infecting my head. no, doing this is warding it off. just say things as you think them to ward off hell thoughts: blake butler article about video game liveblogging, megabus, sears bra rack, baja, bajajajaja, lido deck, man overboard, polecat, cactus pop-up book, helpful secretary, Nicholson baker, egregious capitalization, gian’s apartment, soft heads of [nothing], grandpa luna moth, lunesta, backyard, deck, summer 1992, it was all 1992 when you were a baby and a kid there were never other years then it was 1998, copper pots hanging rustically from a kitchen ceiling, roller rink, no, like, an arcade, arcade where i won tiny erasers, eraserhead, begotten, shit no not begotten the movie that movie is like hell, remembered why i was doing this, curious about why begotten seemed so scary, i’m not scared anymore, if had an intern i would pay them to tell me exactly what my crotch smelled like right now

god

can’t not do this

what my crotch smells like: i don’t know. honestly don’t know. pictured my detached head and flummoxed curious face spinning down an endless tunnel saying ‘honestly don’t know’ in every accent, mostly british accents.

seems like there is a country called ‘crotch’

pictured throwing my hands up in surrender and shaking my head, no wait

going out onstage for an open-mic at stand-up comedy thing, saying ‘seems like there is a country called crotch’ with almost no facial or vocal expression

goddamnit women aren’t funny no one would laugh

sorry women, sorry me

gotta try to make this one work for all of us. make it up to us. hoo. chalking up my hands. jumping in the corner. coach is putting in my mouth guard. hoo

let me try this again, disregard the first time: going out onstage for an open-mic at stand up comedy thing, saying ‘seems like there is a country called crotch’ with almost no facial or vocal expression, then being completely silent for like three minutes, staring intensely into the audience and urgently nodding head sometimes, then raising hands in surrender and matter-of-factly saying ‘can’t do it’

i can’t tell if i’m horrible

honestly enjoy the company of myself

this whole time i’ve been awake, yeah, hey. enjoying myself. well. not the whole time, we’ve. there were ups and downs. had some ins and outs but you know. strong ins and strong outs. the main thing is keeping a strong defense, delivering for the team

wish i was talking like an athlete after a big game right now, seems so sweet to be able to talk like that

stand-up comedian who gives earnest mumbled post-game commentary and never looks at the audience and it’s never clear what sport he plays

wonder how many blowjobs the guy who thought of using ‘fly like an eagle’ for the usps ad campaign in 1998 has gotten from then until now

TO THIS DAY

remembered imagining jesus storage cave earlier and pictured it again and jesus pushed back a big boulder at the entrance and blushed and ‘twinkled’ his fingers at me

seems like…endless ideas…am i going to regret this…

video game called ‘what thing in my room is a nut sack’ or ‘where is the nut sack’ which is actually just like, halo 10

lovingly cradled formerly crotch-leaning sugar-free red bull, looking down at it like mary mother of jesus. but then suddenly it would shoot upwards fast and i’d still be holding onto it. then i would let go. it would try to bang its head on the ceiling to a make a hole so it could go live out its calling, which is to stop denzel’s plane from crashing, it received an email about its calling even before i bought it and it was in my crotch, it’s known this all along but has not wanted to spoil something about how things have been going with us by telling me it wouldn’t always be here, and as soon as i find this out i am more able to be happy that it’s gone

i am the only person i know who says ‘denzel’ and talks about ‘flight’ a lot, feel i do those things a lot

remembered broccoli ‘wall’ on bottom level of union square whole foods and pointing to it and saying ‘is it breathing’ to tao

can’t remember if numbers go like ‘11,200, 12,000,

jesus way too boring, ‘can’t do it’

heart is normal now

feeling less peaking am no longer peaking

forgot about feeling despair or obligation or overtired things earlier, didn’t expect that, thought i’d just tiredly go on

4:09AM: i felt all of that so intensely. now i’m back to normal, mostly. still shivering. going to get in bathtub.

6:36AM: have been stalling assembly of apartment-garnering portfolio.

7:09AM: printed free credit report for portfolio. my hand smells like wet cat food. my credit is ‘medium.’ having credit cards that aren’t attached to your bank account…i can’t believe that idea caught on…like, even i wouldn’t fall for that…of course places will go after you…listen: when someone or something lends you money, you revoke the right to pay it back whenever you want. you’ll owe the total amount you borrowed, if not more, until you pay it back on their terms. credit cards seem like mafia business. i feel like ‘old woman rickets’ or something, ranting to no one from my porch. maybe i should get a mafia credit card. i’m stalling cover letter-writing and showering.

7:16AM: shit 14 minutes.

7:21AM: you can tell your adderall is extended-release because it will have the ‘deluxe transparent addy ball visualizer’ bottom-half. i don’t really have to leave until 8:30. saying i had to leave by 7:30 is an example of a trick i do to avoid being late when i know i’ll want to be late for fun but the stakes are high and if i drag my feet there will be consequences. fake early deadline. classic stakes-raiser. high stakes mental clock readjustment. just another trick up the sleeve of old woman rickets.

my friend brian and i used to do this lumbering, dopey, innocent-sounding voiceover for lady, my family’s potato-shaped food-loving dog. it started when lady was watching the fridge. brian said ‘oh, fiddlesticks. why won’t they ever let me go in the big white box?’ that’s what my brain sounds like right now.

8:18AM: thought ‘give us this day, our daily [michael kimball’s smiling head engulfing entire computer screen, gradually windchimes can be heard]’ as a flash intro to some kind of website, a marketing thing…a union thing…presidential campaign…

9:14AM: not going to make it to NYC. i shouldn’t have talked about my high stakes consequences trick, that invalidated it. i would not rent an apartment to me. i would be able to tell i’m a nasty slumlord good-for-nothing. i would google the shit out of anyone who applied to live in my building. i want to own a parking garage. i need mafia credit cards to get credit to get loans to buy a parking garage. when have you ever heard of a parking garage going out of business? nasty slumlord. keep picturing the michael kimball head thing and laughing in forceful bursts. wish i could make that the cover of my huge ass binder of everything there is to know about me, that i’m giving to apartment building/company/committee/i don’t know who or what i’m giving it to, exactly. maybe i am being scammed. would feel relieved, i think, if this turns out to be a scam. i could just do something else then.

9:22AM: for the past week i’ve semi-frequently been thinking about how i said something like ‘i feel like a richard yates character all the time lately, when i am older this will not be ‘cute in my book. now feel like i am the ‘older’ age where it is no longer ‘cute.’ most people i hang out with are under 24. wonder if they think of me as ‘older person’ now. the only people i’ve thought seemed older than me have also been substantially larger than me in size. it would make sense if as people got older, they never stopped accumulating height and mass. people would measure death in height instead of age, like you’d die at 46’9 tall instead of 80 years old. age is harder to see than height.

9:32AM: sat on floor to continue organizing apartment-garnering portfolio. heard loud plangent basketball-like banging coming from the area behind my closet. the noise went away. it started again. irritated by this noise. the starting and stopping of it. it’s the same every time. mom walked to my room and when she saw me sitting beside computer i knew she’d know i’d been up all night again. she started expressing mom-like concerns, abruptly stopped talking, tilted head and looked alert. i said ‘yeah, the noise, it’s extremely irritating.’ she asked when it started. i said ‘just before you walked in’ and irrationally blamed her for the noise. she said something about pipes or leaks, then ‘i’m supposed to call someone if it’s…if there’s a leak, if the noises are coming from the roof. this has happened, the banging,’ sounding like she was struggling to access her network’s default ‘emergency broadcast’ message. i said ‘it’s not coming from the roof, it’s coming from where i hear the baby crying,’ and pointed to the closet. mom seamlessly transitioned back into worrying about me.

9:52AM: kneeled in front of fridge and ate bites of raw spirulina pie thing. tasted too rich. put it back. thought ‘catch and release.’ currently eating a banana to quell whale noises in stomach. really taking my time with this banana too, like, showing it a good time, being careful not to make any sudden movements while it rests on my calf.

9:57AM: i pointed and said ‘it’s coming from there.’ mom stood with surprising quickness and i followed her out to the balcony. she asked ‘when do you hear the sounds the baby makes?’ i said ‘not regularly, not lately. that’s a scary question.’ she said ‘oh no! no, no, no.’ i said ‘no, no, no, i mean like scary like david lynch, like he’d have someone say what you just said and then disappear or something.’ there was a noise. mom’s head darted in meerkat-like manner. i said ‘maybe it’s a burglar who has come to give us the lottery, wouldn’t that be exciting?’ mom smiled and made a face. felt attentive to silences between noises. i said ‘it’d be an ‘opposite’ kind of burglar.’

10:23AM: interested in never sleeping again maybe, dying…somehow…from that?

12:12PM: fedex-ing my tenant application form instead of giving to colin in person. doesn’t make sense to drive to NYC with incomplete portfolio. 24-year-old real estate mogul neighbor. ‘mogul’ is weird. feel like my hands are skeletal and ‘mogul’ right now. the capillaries or something look purple and webby and close to being on the other side of my skin with the rest of the world. think i’m thinking of ‘gollum.’

12:21PM: almost always have itunes open and almost never play music. i don’t know anyone who listens to less music than me. remember telling that to tao in a car, hearing ‘seems…depressing…’ after a few moments.

12:24PM: pictured the annoying hot girl from ‘girls’ saying ‘i LOOOOOVE old woman rickets.’ she’d go global with old woman rickets. take that shit global. that girl has nice teeth. if i were a guy and i saw her across a room i’d say ‘i’d like to take her out back, if you know what i mean’ to the guy next to me. he would know. people are always knowing things. they’re always saying things like that and understanding each other.

12:39PM: laying under blankets. can’t believe i took so long to do ‘laying’ or ‘blankets.’

12:48PM: banging noises have been replaced by bumping at a rhythm similar to this thing in the song. hm. i would pay someone to figure out what the song is, maybe. i almost can remember words.

12:53PM: the song is ‘a sweet summer’s night on hammer hill.’ listening now. it’s horrible when they say ‘boom-ba-boom.’ eyes watered when i felt like i couldn’t continue typing something as embarrassing as the last ‘boom’ of the rhythm sequence. it out-embarrassed me. i don’t think i’ve ever felt this intensely negative about a song, or felt too embarrassed to finish typing something. i kind of like how awful listening to it feels.

i can imagine someone reading this and being really annoyed by me. seems harder to imagine people being annoyed with me in person. i’m confident about my chill, attentive presence. oh gross. imagine some 18-22 year old guy smiling sexily, taking his shirt off as he scoots himself close to you on your beach towel—you are mostly in the sand and he is taking up most of the beach towel—squinting his eyes and nodding and saying ‘i’m confident about my chill, attentive presence’ at you.

1:04PM: jens lekman has been playing since other song. this is my ex-boyfriend’s computer, it has all his music on it. going to try to listen to music. randomly selected ‘i’m your boogie man’ by kc and the sunshine band and fast-forwarded to a middle part where it’s. i can’t describe. you would recognize it, probably. i recognized it. i laughed. oh god. ‘here we go:’

it seems like a club. the lights come on. it is a club. no one is there yet. after a moment a james brown-like voice says ‘give us this day, our daily[not heard over sounds of immense unseen hydraulic power lowering 100’ diameter disco ball that looks like michael kimball’s smiling head, spinning slowly. when the hydraulics stop making noise ‘i’m your boogie man’ by kc and the sunshine band can be heard faintly, but something went wrong, it was sent to the wrong address and is playing next door instead].’

that’s what the release party for the flash intro to the marketing website would be. i’m crying laughing so hard. i never believe people when they say that.

1:17PM: i want everyone to be doing this too, liveblogging all the time. a future where no one talks and. damnit. i used to picture this bleak all-white ‘matrix’-like people-harvesting room. the entire earth had changed into this white room where everyone just sat silently, and that was the future. thought ‘maybe that would be good if everyone was liveblogging’ and i guess worse things could happen than that, but i’m definitely not as excited about it anymore.

1:29PM: i’m not even trying to do anything but just lay here anymore. until further notice i will be laying here. good. the banging noise seems insane, definitely directed at me.

1:31PM: people think multitasking is distracting and it’s not good to get sidetracked but what if that’s actually how our brains want to evolve? like they want to process a larger and less-related variety of information and do this as fast as possible, eventually achieving infinity or something, perceiving infinite things at infinite speed. seems like i may have not been the first person to think this, vague memories of tao describing something like this in ‘taipei.’

1:46PM: approaching 48th hour awake. i’m going to have nothing to say for like two weeks after i finish this. i love anyone who has made it to this sentence. pictured ricky fitts with bloody nose, saying ‘don’t give up on me, dad’ as a kind of warning or command to chris cunningham, who has just punched him, i think, in ‘american beauty.’ that part.

2:12PM: here is an ‘other people’ update:

•  mom asked if i wanted anything from whole foods. i said ‘no thanks’ then ‘chim chim’ quietly, half-hoping i had actually just repeated ‘no thanks’

•  read supportive texts from gian and stephen dierks and felt good and like texts are one of the things influencing me to write more today

•  last night friend of ‘shower noise requester caller’ texted me and sent a picture but i haven’t responded

•  colin the real estate mogul texted ‘ASAP’ regarding something i forgot around 10AM

•  moved car from driveway to new parking spot so mom could drive out of garage. held apple i found on my car’s floor as i walked to condo, thinking ‘mom will feel good if she sees me eating the apple.’ made plans to take first bite of apple once i saw ‘the whites of mom’s eyes.’ saw that i’d left condo’s door wide open but walked inside confidently and nonchalantly, bumping into mom, who i reflexively said ‘night night’ to, then hurriedly bit apple to ‘make up for lost time.’ mom smiled and shook her head a little. i laughed and said ‘night night sorry hello goodbye.’

imagine all of the homeless people who have hotmail accounts. in the year 4000 all homeless people will have emails but somehow it’s going to be worse.

2:54PM: experiencing weird light and depth/size hallucinations. the thing i’m mostly seeing seems like it’s everywhere also. it’s sort of weak in that i’m mostly seeing stuff i normally see, but if i focus harder/almost cross my eyes there is this other layer of stuff like,