September 20, 2009|
sitting shirtless in shorts, i am spending a day with my papa. right now i am in the house, though. we are going to go to costco and he is going to get me shows. showes. shoes.
went to pacifica, got sad seeing to the makeout point, got sad seeing anime imports the smelly store, got sad over seeing pigeons.
pisses me off. always pissed off. that i am so starved for sexual and affection and she gives it all to someone who basically puts her in the position of a prostitute, using sex as a bargaining tool.
thought that hanging with papa would interfere with studies, but i have studied more today than i have over the weekend. and that feels good. i brought my printout. what i do so i can practice at home is i scan my assignments, and then i put them together, and then i print them, so that way i can touch them without dirtying my books.
so i had my paper and i practiced a lot.
day 2 of downloading all of the content from preg-nancy.com is going swimmingly.
and i sat next to a guy smoking a cigar, and another guy with a corncob pipe came by and said NICE STOGIE, and they talked smokes for a bit, and the guy with the corncob pipe said how it makes him feel like hugh hefner without the women or the money.
i sat near a group that also included hugh hefner, continuing my solfège work. and he asked if i could just read it and play it like that, and i said sort of. and we talked music. and he said he plays piano at old people homes to make them happy, and he is 65. he told me about a person who taught him, or something, and how they knew... duke ellington? no. they knew... the ragtime guy. i don't know. i do know. somewhere in my head... scott joplin.
he talked about a piano teacher who required that you could figure out row row row your boat in a minute on the piano before he'd teach
i talked about how i like recording sounds and using them in compositions, not really a musician.
his finger had swollen up from a buildup of things. temporary condition that interfered with piano
doesn't know how to read music
if he were my age, would have studied more. he would have been less timid
sometimes i panic so hard that it hurts, about the girl, and i know that this is it. but i can't handle that reality. she thinks we can just be friends. but if i keep being her friend, there is still that bit of hope in me, that she constantly destroys. she does that by refusing the basic components of friendships. my hope is something beautiful, some small beautiful thing in me that she constantly smashes to bits for his benefit. and that is sickening. and impossible to cope with.
and so he walked away, into his sixties
and my papa and i went on the pier, and as we walked and walked and walked, it was odd and wonderful how it got foggy. we were walking into fog, and that is when i realized, i want a boat. no i want a yacht. i want a yacht so much now. i want to keep going deeper into the fog. i need a yacht.
yesterday i ran for the first time in a long time. i twisted my ankle afterward, and i collapsed bitterly on the ground, with no one to drag myself to