December 1 2004

Today was a good day, until I got to work and suddenly, my brain folded in on itself, like some kind of sexy origami goldfish, which is beautiful, but serves little purpose as a brain.

And then a really cute girl came in looking for info on banned books. Like, really cute. And then she left, but only after telling me that she liked my lenticular Spider-Man ring. Because hot sweet jesus, nothing says ‘excellent in bed’ like wearing a Spider-Man ring, because if you’re wearing one, you really obviously aren’t overcompensating for anything.

That’s all I really have to say. I was probably rude and short tempered to everyone today, like that kid who asked me to sharpen his pencil. To my credit, he’d obviously intentionally broken the point clear off, as well as half of the pencil, and probably chewed on it a bit.


December 5, 2004 [note : I have no idea who this was about]

You want to know a perfect evening?

A perfect evening is encountering a beautiful woman at the library and getting in a car with her, heading south, and finding a wonderful little Thai restuarant in a small town, listening to gypsy jazz on the way and hearing her laugh until she’s out of breath. She stays until about 3 AM, watching bad tv with you and enjoying it, and when she leaves, your pet cthulu still smells like her.




December 24, 2004

During the worst of it, it seemed to make perfect sense to steal my grandpa’s car (since small town library pay does not a car afford) and drive west until I couldn’t go anymore, living on credit cards and diner meals and gas station bathrooms and a backseat full of Tom Waits and Pixies CDs. I have these elaborate escape fantasies, vanishing from the world, deleting myself, rebooting. Canceling my membership to the world. Not inserting another quarter to continue. Winding up someplace unfamiliar, some kind of black-clad drifter who saves a kitten from a tree and is never seen again. Playing the crane machine at some mid-western bowling alley and sticking the fuzzy results on the back window of the misappropriated car. One day, I will do this, without the car stealing part, and preferably with a pretty girl at my side to share in the adventures.


December 27, 2004

Here’s something that they really don’t tell you when you sign on to work at a library.

People will return books covered in the most foul, horrific, uncategorizable substances imaginable. A thin film of alien substances that the patrons exude, or betray the living conditions that they keep. I’m not talking about videocassettes that are returned covered in strange, yellow water. No. And I’m not talking about the books which were read by heavy smokers and exude cancer as you scan them.

I’m talking about speckles of barbecued sweat. Books doused in perfume and onion juice. Things that reek of flea collars and alcohol and skin. Skin doesn’t have a smell until you’ve had to handle a book covered in it and it stains your hands with the foulness of it, and you can only identify it as something that must have come from a person, at some point. Juices and powders and chemicals, spilled. And I…. I touch them all. And then, I smell the book, which probably makes me look crazy. Sometimes, I wash them off. Other times, I just shelve them right away to get them away from me before I get queasy. More than a few of these have surely visited bathrooms.

Because people are disgusting, disgusting things when they touch books, apparently.


December 31, 2004

So, I started Animal Crossing at around 8 AM today. I played until around 10:30. I took a meteorite from the lost and found, even though it didn’t belong to me.

Already, the similarities to my life have become disturbingly clear. The number of ‘bells’ that I must pay off to properly own the house in which I live is about exactly what I need to pay off on my student loan. Except the Sallie Mae Loan Raping Company doesn’t accept old clothes and oranges in payment, and I can’t just deliver a package to a crocodile and call it even.

I named my character Flank. He has a house all to himself, with a stereo, and a rug, and two Nintendo games. And a creepy, spinning meteorite slowly rotating in a corner, giving me cancer, probably. And still, he’s better off than I am.

Unfortunately, I arrived on Raffle Day, which means I can’t buy or sell anything, which is the main gist of the game. All I’m doing is writing haikus to reptiles and mailing them off, occasionally delivering an item from one town member to another and running around aimlessly, my pockets full of oranges.

While I was out, I swear I heard a lady call her two sons ‘Vincent’ and ‘Price’, and immediately decided that when I get two cats, that will be their names.