I have been feeling incredibly normal all day. It may be that last week had a lot of worry in it, and this week is just basic maintenance again. Maybe it's because the scaffolders' drilling is so high up the building that it sounds more like I'm remembering it than hearing it. Maybe it's because it finally rained so hard. I feel more myself, which is something I've been having a hard time with for a while.

I've spent the last hour or so looking through poorly marked CDs, trying to find the right songs. I've been listening to this song of Unix' and I like it so much. It makes me feel like I'm in a car and wind is blowing through the windows. I've been listening to that song that Jameso and I did, and it's so awful and so good. It makes me want to cry a little, because I can remember exactly how I felt that week. I can hear it in how low my voice is, how low my voices are, the way I chose all of the most comforting notes to play. Jameso plays the guitar just the way I want someone to, and his drums are like a marching band sometimes. Oh, I forgot the crush I had on those drums. I think if Jameso had never done anything but play music all the time I'd have fallen in love with him. Music aside, I think I miss his presence in my life a lot more than I've been willing to consider. We used to spend hours on his living room floor on Friday nights, having private talks and drinking out of the same giant bottle until we were finally dragged out of the apartment and into the company of others, and I don't know that I'll ever find anyone else to have that sort of time with. I wonder who he is now, and I worry that he's turned unforgiveably boring. He always seemed to want to.

I'm feeling cynical today about something I've never felt cynical about before, and it feels pretty alright. I don't know why people say the things they do, things it seems impossible that they could mean. I guess I do it too, but what is wrong with all of us? I'm making plans to work on that project with the Allagher, finally, even though I know she'll be trouble, even though she's the worst for saying things she doesn't mean. She means well, I guess, and she's good for making me do things I ordinarily wouldn't, and all of her friends are strangers, or at least stranger than mine. Bad news, but at least I'm asking for it.

Cripes, I don't think I like the way this is going. I need a couple of proper kitchen chairs and a bright new resolve to not take words to heart. I'm going to take up the hobby of being alternately mean and indifferent and it's going to be swell.