magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

i dreamt of a city that has figured in my dreams before, but this time it was conflated with bits of providence, both from driving around downtown last night, and from reading h. p. lovecraft's letters yesterday. and later, a class that i had not attended for a long time (because of a vacation possibly?) and i had forgotten exactly where it met.

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i felt exhausted today:

it is as if the cells [of my body] have stopped producing energy, and are straining in vain to absorb that needed energy from the universe around them, succeeding only at a small scale, forming little eddies in the fabric of the aether that you might see if you had glasses polarized for that sort of thing, like that method of photography that captures auras, but for the most part failing, the little whisps of energy barely enough to keep arms from falling limp at the sides, pulling on shoulders, on the upper torso, a cascade of loss of potential to fight against gravity, a pulling towards the floor, and beyond the floor, gravity is the thing, a constant pulling towards the center, that nameless mass.

it's not for the lack of eating or lack of sleep, but more as if sleep had been fraught with black shapes, dark and unknown, dark shapes from the sea that had taken hold and found root, that fed on sleep so that the body could not, and now sought to rejoin that nameless mass of gravity's dark center, the body an unwitting participant in this ancient dance of separation and return.

it probably is because of a lack of eating well though, working 12-9 four days a week is not conducive to eating regular meals.

walking home from work, i stopped to talk to zanetta and paul.? (last initial unknown at this point, but not paul from my studio section last semester, who did just recently send me email that needs replying to) who were sitting across the street from their apartment, a couple blocks down the street from ours. while standing around talking, i took note of geoff and jodi of the secret stars stopping in for dinner at the restaurant next door. i didn't say hello or anything, as i haven't really actually met either of them, aside from buying some cds from geoff when he played with ida over spring break. i think he did notice my ida t-shirt though.

"our little man" as chris puts it, or garth as the rest of the world knows him, called tonight from denver. i believe that this is the first we've heard from him, beyond a few postcards, the text of which seems to get shorter with each successive one.