Welcome To My Bed

New things.

I get paid in four days, and it will be more than usual. Four shifts more than usual, which comes out to about the price of a tattoo. I have long been itching to get another, and am strongly considering doing so this weekend.

I have been writing folk songs non-stop, but not on purpose. I just am incapable of writing anything else. It's nearly frustrating.

There is supposed to be a walk out in about 45 minutes because the campus is apparently not "actively anti-racist" enough. Whatever that means. People here are militantly naive. I sigh for them. I will be in class, pretending I actually read the Charles Olson I was meant to experience last night.

Today, I need to sell DVDs to Newbury Comics, sell books to the Raven, and pocket this money for later use on groceries. I wish there was also a place I could sell clothing I no longer want or wear. It's frustrating that I can't profit off my fickle fashion sense.

Last night, while watching Shattered Glass before bed, I decided that Peter Sarsgaard and Steve Zahn need to get together and conference about getting their careers off the ground. They are both so good. Ridiculously good. But Peter Sargaard does not get anywhere near enough work. And Steve Zahn makes idiot movies like Strange Wilderness. I can't believe I sat through that. He is just so endearing, I probably just couldn't help it. At any rate, I want to see more of them. Movie gods, make it happen!