ever feel kinda down and out you don't know just what to do?

Lady Day and John Coltrane can only take a guy so far. But, I must say, blasting "My Favorite Things" with the heat on and the windows down (<<---decadent motherfucker) really does a lot to make my heart feel good.

Leaving on Thursday, as in the day after the day after tomorrow. Doût Jesus.

Right now I'm heading out to lunch w/my mama and brother. Oh, acting like things are fine. Saw Shira and Sharla last night which was sweet. Drank beer determinedly (is that a word) at my grandparents' which was necessary and helpful in its own way. Smell like delicious fig hand cream and need to wash my damn hair. More to say, can't really say it, gotta go downstairs.

(no subject)

I guess one doesn't pack hangers and room decorations when one goes abroad?
I do suppose, however, that one packs period. I have yet to do this. I also have yet to unpack completely from Vassah so whatever. Latkes and soufflé and wine for dinner; it was delicious. I never told you all about the good part of being in the city. There was more to it than crying a lot! There were latkes and ta 51 beauties at EE's all the way up at 83rd and me cooking breakfast with Mia near Prospect Park and fun with Taylor which included: sitting behind a plastic sheet at one of those Indian restaurants with red lights all in the inside (our seat included a wonderful vinyl-capped lamp with spinning light-up fish pictures), me shaming him by drinking beer out of a straw from a paper cup, Patti Smith!, this woman like Rosie O'Donnell telling me I was taking up her personal space, and lots of wonderfulness. Now that I'm back home in my scramble-pit of a room all I want to do is lie around reading D+G (or even The Spell of the Sensuous, if I were to stick to one book at one time) instead of calling friends or packing or doing anything productive. Fiaca, without actually being overwhelmingly satisfied by anything. I suppose that's just 'laziness.'