there's more to life than books, you know

The new moon makes me permeable and weepy, even on T, last night spent on the verge of tears even hours after a good kitchen-table talk with my bro about long-held character misgivings etc re: T., the times he had that other boy over while I was away and how it weirded my brother out, the context, the superficiality, the way he apparently "looks just like you, well, you know," another small dark-haired tranny with sturdy hips I guess, what do I know. I dragged myself to the gym to break the post-bus hit-by-a-truck feeling before a couple hours of work at MaxCaffe over milky black tea. Then cos all I wanted was to smoke cigarettes I treated myself to veggie bun xao noodles from Saga (another trigger, where Daddy used to buy us food, credit cards I can't remember and probably maxed out anyway still on file) for dinner instead and bought a cheap bottle of Camenere from Harlem Vintage. Le souci de soi, and this morning:

-modeh ani when I wake up gray outside ready to cry
-wiping down the baseboards
-oatstraw infusion in the washed-out jar from the preserved lemons, switched to the scrubbed-out jar from last solstice's sourdough starter
-tefillin, feeding the dove, a kala I need more of
-to the gym! deadlifts to Gillian's harrow and harvest
-picking up my tailored hand-me-down diesels, the winter coat I never dry-cleaned til now
-seeing Sebastian in for his stay
etc etc etc, this is life now. Today I have to present in BioLogix on a paper I haven't really written yet, but luckily I'm retooling an essay I worked on before so I should be able to turn it out without getting tweaked; I really am trying to do it without pills now, for this paper at least.

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