I haven’t had a really graphic nightmare in a while, but maybe it was the Murakami I fell asleep reading. I dreamed I was discussing inane details of my experiments with my advisor in a jailhouse execution room. Does color matter if we’re looking at shape? Should the shapes be monotone or different colors?

While we talked, naked men droped one at a time from above the curtains into the spotlight on a stage in front of us. Some men’s necks snapped instantly, and the crowd would gasp at the sound. Some of them would choke over the course of a minute.

Then I noticed that my brother and sister were in the room. My brother had his hands up over his mouth in horror and I was worried he was going to puke. I wanted to go get them and pull them out of the room, but I couldn’t (because I was in a meeting), and I was wondering if we even had the option of leaving anyway. I had a suspicion that these deaths were things we all had to see, so I stayed in my seat, defended my color choices, watched my brother and sister watch the executions, and cried that I couldn’t do anything to prevent them from seeing what they were seeing.

One of the men fell by his foot instead of his neck. He choked himself to death violently with his own hands. I had wondered as a kid if that could be done, if you had the will for it. Logically, I decided no, you couldn’t, as I got older and came to understand that you pass out before you die from a lack of oxygen. But this man did it nonetheless. It looked excruciating.

I’m trying to shake it off but the details of the deaths and my siblings faces are sticking hard this morning. I’m left more upset than I should be from a dream. I’m drinking coffee, then I’ll go to the gym. If it’s still bothering me, I’ll flip through art books at the library after.

If you join the cult, you have to have that hairdo, and they don’t even have hairspray… No, I saw it, they have hairspray… I used to play volleyball, but you know, I’m older, I’d stand out. I should be having a baby… I just want an apartment with hardwood floors, a fireplace, a nice kitchen, like the one you had on Lake Ave… Mmm, whipped cream. Bad for me but I love it… He said he had to get a wife first, get hired, and then get a wife first… She doesn’t want to keep living like that. It’s costing her, God, I don’t even know, $200? $300 a month? But, let’s face it, she’s fat… Look at me. Would you fucking look at me when you say that… I’m shocked, I’m not that shocked, he never pays me on time. I just hope people know why I’m not there Monday…

Wow. Baby lust, apartment envy, food guilt, broken hearts, and lost jobs! It’s a dramatic night at Spin.

Today at lunch I’ll buy you
an ice cream sandwhich with my allowance,
make your face out of tater tots
’cause I really, really like you
lots. I got my little school box
full of nothing, but I want something,
and I keep eating those heart-shaped candies
I’m too chicken to give to you.

I wanna pass notes with you,
and say the things on my shoe,
and trade lunches at noon,
I wanna pass notes with you.

I wanna pass notes with you,
and toss my cookies in the boys room,
trade lunches at noon,
I wanna pass notes with you.

[Toy xylophone solo.]

I wanna pass notes with you,
and say the things on my shoe,
and trade lunches at noon,
I wanna pass notes with you.

I wanna pass notes with you,
and toss my cookies in the boys room,
tie your shooooooooooooe,
and trade lunches with you.

F.Y.P makes me happy.

Steve got me a really beautiful acoustic Blueridge guitar with a narrow neck, and I decided I should start lessons. My first one, with Ben Proctor, was today. As expected, I suck. But Ben says I’m supposed to. So, good. On track so far.

I realized a couple weeks ago (on April Fool’s Day, actually… I redid my New Year’s resolutions… nevermind…) that my pursuit of All had kind of stalled. Well, not stalled, but sort of—slowed—and it needed some kick. So I’m kicking it a little.

In no particular order, recently instated daily efforts: running (body hurts, self feels present), salads (are good for me and for you), raspberries (should be abundant and shared), Can anthology (makes me feel lucky to have ears), Spike Lee ‘levees’ series (makes me deal with things), Murakami books (help me remember how few things in life really matter), coffee (helps me forget the details), phone calls home (because I miss my family and friends, especially Megan and Matthew).

The plastic cap of the cayenne pepper fell off while I was seasoning my pasta tonight. Two or so tablespoons of red powder fell into the pot, along with the onion, garlic and chipotle pepper I had already added. A fan of mouth burn, I ate it anyway.

I don’t think it was God I felt, but it was something euphoric. I’m thinking of starting a cult. Cult of pungency. Can’t feel my mouth, but I’m pretty sure I’m still smiling.

Browsing through my journals a couple nights ago, I stumbled upon a list I made in 3rd or 4th grade. In said list, I calculate how much it would cost for me to move out. I remember being really impressed by big math problems we did in class. I think I was inspired.

I was frequently chastised (delicately, cause my teachers were nice) for doing things like this instead of my work. Here’s the budget I came up with:

BUDGET

Shelter

month of rent = $100

TOTAL $100

$100 /30.5 days per month (average) = $3.28 per day
~~~~~

Food

loaf of bread (9 pairs of slices) $2 x 7 = $14 (63 servings)
32 oz.-jar peanut butter =$3 (64 servings)
$4 32-oz.-jar jelly (64 servings) =$4 (64 servings)

TOTAL $21

63 sandwiches /3 per day = sandwiches for 21 days
$21 for sandwiches/ 21 days = $1 per day!!!!
~~~~~

$3.28 per day for shelter + $1 per day for food =

$4.28 per day for necessity

$4.28 per day for 365 days per year = 1562.20!!!!!!!!!! A YEAR!!!!!!!!

Judging from the number of exclamation points, I’m going to assume I determined that this was far too expensive of a plan. I like that I estimate my rent to be $100 a month. Perhaps I was assuming I’d have other 3rd grade roomates to split with? I also like that I assume I’ll be happy eating 3 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a day for a year.

So, I haven’t had a party in a long time, cause I’ve been working or something like that, but I was thinking maybe a crawfish boil the first weekend in May would be fun. Would anyone be up for that? Mail ordering live crawfish from Louisiana would be about $10 per person. I’d cook the crawfish, cover beer, maybe make some other things. (Like maybe we could do burgers and things like that for people who don’t want to pinch tails and suck heads.) By May, hopefully it’d be warm enough to do it outside! Whatdayasay, Rochestarians?