I see things happen all the time in 'real' life that seem like perfect illustrations of various theories. Like when Brandon Scott Gorrell said "the person doesn't matter" in his video explanation/whatever for keeping Sarah Schneider's name attached to that story. Then I think, "wow, that really corresponds to Barthes and Derrida." Then I write a little fucking essay in my head and feel like a dumb ass. What is real life. The video is not real life. Online story contests are not real life. Blogs are not real life.

Whatever, what the fuck is real life, who cares. I read too much.

This afternoon was lovely. I was sitting at my desk studying and drinking double spice chai tea with oatmeal cookies and burning lemongrass incense with my cats curled up on the window sill and the man across the street was playing his saxophone which mingled with the sun and the sound of traffic and the Veve Seashore and sirens and people laughing and smoking weed on the sidewalk and cats purring.

I feel like this blog is a high-maintenence mistress that I have to call every night and drive around and buy expensive ugly bags for in exchange for mediocre sex.

I finished my exams a few hours ago. I did really really good this year. I start summer classes in a week. I am trying to plan my future or something. I don't know where to go for grad school. I started going back to the gym on a regular basis. I like the way my body feels when its moving and active. I like the physicality, its a sweet sweet feeling for someone so often trapped in the mind.

Right now the wind is picking up and the leaves of the trees are making lovely woooshing noises that sound vaguely ominous. The city is full of white noise that permeates side streets and is only noticeable in the dark. I can't wait to have sex tomorrow and be beside a naked male body.