People, I don't even want to tell you want I did, because you will think that I am so lazy, but even more importantly - by my retelling of it, I will feel like shit realizing that I wasted a day. But, I guess I'll just feel poopy then: I slept until about noon today, woke up, read for a couple of hours, ate some food, and then at three o'clock took a nap until six. Basically, I did nothing. Tonight, Bonnie and I went to the Wily Street Coop in hopes of seeing LoverBoy, but sadly he wasn't working. We bought lots of groceries, dropped them off at home, and then went to the big grocery store, to go steal some rum, wine, and cheese. Now, we are at the library, checking our email and that is what I did today. Oh, and I didn't even get any fucking email. There is nothing as discouraging as waiting all day to check your email, and then logging into your account to see a big old O new messages in your inbox. Fuck you Hotmail and you too, whoever didn't write me a fucking email. Even one of those Enlarge Your Penis emails would have been somewhat comforting.
Yesterday, we went to Barnes and Nobles and stole lots of fun poetry books. Today, I finished reading Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet, which is such an awesome book, and one that I think I am going to carry around with me everywhere. There are so many lines and passages that I wanted to put in here, but the book's at home, and so you'll just have to trust me that it is an excellent book, providing excellent advice about life and how to live it, and how to submit to it. After I had finished reading a sizable chunk from it, the portions where he talks about art, and how you shouldn't do it, unless it is neccesary for one's survival, Bonnie started asking me about art. This was right when I was about to hop into bed, letting Rilke's ideas stew in my head. And I didn't feel like talking for whatever reasons I told her, and so we passed notes for a couple of hours I guess, talking about how we felt about art, and the whys of it, and shit - I need some caffeine in my bloodstream to function, I think. I really feel like I'm only half-living, like living in a slouch unless I have some caffeine in my system. Totatlly unmotivated to do anything but read, and go home and drink some yummy drinks.
Oh, and I think this perhaps sounds a little like I am bored, and that is my fault. There's a Rilke passage about boredom that seemed really appropriate last night and how a true poet sees the amazing beauty in every situation, even ones that might seem boring as hell, and fuck this, I don't have the book with me, fuck you - I'm goddamn motherfucking hot in this library and want someone to _______ me. I wrote "save" in that blank, but decided it was not exactly what I meant to convey and so left it blank and will leave that up to you. To you, you lazy cocksucker.