I wish that you and I could talk not so loud.
2005-03-28 @ 3:47 p.m.

I astonish myself with my ability to consistently read the best books. Like when I finished Beloved and read Running with Scissors, or how many times I can pick up A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genious, Beautiful Losers or Candide - and still love them. Maybe I have no taste and everything appeals to me in some way or another, simply because I can't differentiate between good and bad, the way the criminally insane can't tell the difference between right and wrong. Maybe it's impossible to dissapoint me, like I'm some sort of absolute literary optomist. I don't know. Lately I'm finding things so much easier to manage so long as I just take it easy. Everytime I hit a wall in my research paper I get up and walk away. I grab my cigarettes and tea and a book and I sit quietly in the backroom for ten minutes and rest. I just keep telling myself I'll get it done, and ignore it off and on, off and on. Somehow, this seems to be working out alright.

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