apologies. i cdn't write sooner. drooped down under the weight of ongoing projects, my life - the last lo-res, a room half-full, a fucking disappointment considering all the work everyone put into it. a new co-worker. my superior. locked in a room with my boss, eight hours. file under: locked in a coffin, morning and afternoon.
asphyxiated, half my face in sunlight.
read a biography of groucho marx - all too human, depressing. now i'm belatedly making my way thru sartre's 'nausea', digging the phenomenological pulp of the prose, the brittle emptiness framed by every sentence.
music journalism again, hmm.
on friday, i have to be interviewed for my own job. said to a friend, i feel like i'm climbing into my grave and patting the earth down. my eyes are aching. there are bubbles fusing inside of me.
went out at the weekend. can't say i didn't have fun.
but meanwhile... new boss. boss in room. bad. money low, mood variable. so. many. things. to. fill. my. spaces.
no action. (no attempt).
boss - this particular boss - not the problem. this particular boss only a symptom. need to go part-time. need to make nitelife pay. will talk to trusted allies tonite, maybe. will make detailed, unrealistic plans (fantasies).
to live and feel nothing. to live and still to need. to be driven on, unable to stop. to be addicted. almost too tired to be angry. almost too angry to be tired.