10.27.2011

It's becoming apparent that October will pass without my having baked a pumpkin pie. There has been none stop soggy rain all day, which reflects the mood of this week just right. Since returning from Rochester I haven't been able to find my sleep pattern, and end up milling about until 2am and then cursing myself in the morning.

After many fraught minutes of brainstorming, I've settled on my Halloween 2011 costume, and after work yesterday I promptly marched over to M&J Trimmings in the Garment district to pick up half a yard of feathers for my Native American headpiece. Enlisted my mother to help me construct it, and I'm hoping that we have a hot glue gun somewhere still in the house or else I will need to make it work with a sewing machine. I'm looking forward to ODing on bronzer and smoking out my eyes. If only I could string a bow, but then I'm positive that I'd poke an eye out, mine or otherwise.

Said sewing machine sits like a rhinoceros on the living room table and seems to shit clutter all over the place. Last night I almost bought a new scanner to replace the decade old one we have that isn't compatible to Mac Lion. But then I imagined one more clunky object to find a place for in the home and I just couldn't pull the trigger. Funny how clothing can pile up yards high and I've endless patience for it. But tins of pens and pencils, old mail and newspapers? That kind of stuff makes sends me into a tizzy. Sometimes I yell about it. 

On writing: my poems were always at least tangentially about me. I wrote to remember, to process events, and when I was sad about something. But since I've been so deeply unhappy with the way I spend my days as a working person, I've nothing to write about, nothing to tell. And it isn't that work is miserable, but work is becoming too big a part of my identity. On slow days I sometimes spend whole hours preoccupied over what else I could be doing instead of nothing. 

The street vendor on the corner of 43rd street comes to the nook next to our façade and practices his Muslim prayers some afternoons. Today it is cold, and he wears a puffer coat and brings his usual cloth to kneel on. I want to tell him sorry for my last manager, who asked him to leave when he tried to do his prayers in our empty hallway. But he never looks in the window into our place. I wish we had a different kind of non-relationship, where we smile and wish each other good weekends.

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