This day has been an interesting departure for me. Drinking before noon, a mid-day trip to the Mystery Spot, a movie (Igby Goes Down) by myself, and an hour spent wandering around snapping pictures. I'm still a little out of it, perhaps that's the effect of the spider bite i have on my leg, i definitely can feel the venom in my bloodstream. But it's not turning black (the bite) and i'm a bit of a hypochondriac, so i'll just going to let it be.
I just fixed the type-writer i found at the flea-market. The kid buys a brand new computer only to get excited over finding a typewriter, go figure. Perhaps i'll begin my work on the great American novel i've always been meaning to write. I would guess that if you're going to fail at something, attempting the novel is as noble crusade as any. At this point i'm fully medicated, so take all of this with a grain of salt.
In the morning: there are phone calls to be made, laundry to be washed, and ideas to be espoused. If only i could return to this space anytime i wanted, no book would ever go unread and no page would be left without ink.
You know, things would be better if i didn't think so damn much.