I bought a Powerball ticket for last night's game. Not one number matched. My lower back hurts in a way I'm not sure it has ever before. Bending over to pick things up or getting up from a sitting position is almost comically painful. I play the part of an old man, moaning and sighing over little tasks. I woke up this way. I'm not sure what brought this about - perhaps sleeping wrong, perhaps working out wrong, or perhaps a sign of aging. Maybe some combination of all three. I kept on taking naps today because it was about the most comfortable thing I could do and because also there was some part of me that imagined, hoped, I would wake up and it would go away. That I could blink my eyes and it would disappear. Click your heels three times and dream of home. Something like that.
I am listening to Smashing Pumpkins and drinking coffee. Soon I may look at jobs to apply to. Probably not, though. Later, after I fail to look for jobs, I am going to see Erykah Badu sing some songs in midtown with Jacob and I cannot wait.
I have been trying to read Murakami's 1Q84 for the past couple weeks now, have had in my possession for that long at least. It sits in various rooms of my house, either by my bed or by my couch and every few days or so I will remember that I want to read it and attempt to, but the weight of the thing really makes it an awkward book to get comfortable with. Today, bed-ridden, I took up the thing again. I am listening to Smashing Pumpkins and reading Murakami and going to see Erykah Badu and it could easily be ten years ago I suppose.