Every time I take a picture of a sunrise
even if it’s not

it’s for you.

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Apparently I repeat myself.

That feeling can’t belong to just you. :/

Another long, protracted dream in which I pled my case and attempted to make amends to Therria, and she wasn’t buyin’ it (or at least she didn’t care).

I don’t know if I ever knew till yesterday that you can hear the church bells from my parents’ house.

Last night, after seeing KBO highlights on some Korean UHF station as my dad was flipping past channels, I dreamt that I was at some luncheon in a big room, like a restaurant, or a cafeteria but in a nice office building, at a table with some people that included Lefty. As it wound down, and I addressed him directly, saying, look, dude, you know, I’m just letting you know ’cause I think you might be interested, and pointed out that in one corner of the room, there was this Korean sign; they were going to be showing whatever the championship of the KBO season is called. And he didn’t even acknowledge me. So I bitched him out, like, COME ON, man, I’m trying to be cool here, and finally he did, and it seemed like there was an uneasy truce, like, sure, yeah, I’ll come see that, and I don’t think Therria was there, but of course she was mentioned.

I don’t have the heart to tell my parents my camera got jacked when I was sleeping in a doorway in Chicago.

You could plan a pretty picnic, but you can’t predict the weather

but you can bring an umbrella. And if that picnic’s planned for rain or shine, then don’t fuckin’ whine if it’s a storm for weeks at a time.

I watched “Princess Bride” tonight

I really don’t think anything else needs to be said.

I’m not any fucking good at this
and I’m not getting any better.

Last night me + my mom were watching a nature show, and there was this monkey who was supposed to be keeping guard while this younger one went to drink from a lake... Well, the other monkey got eaten by the thing that lived in the lake (I think we could all see that coming). The voiceover narrator said, “How does the monkey feel?” We both responded, in unison, “like an asshole.”

If he remembered
I guess he’s OK.

Un montón de correos de Speedbump

It’s OK, I’ve been thinking about you all day, anyway.

*sigh*
She’s fuckin’ annoying, but listening to Eve Ensler, I suddenly feel like The Baby will be OK.

That you’re an economist, though, makes me want to kiss you hard on the mouth right now.
It also makes me sad and disappointed.

I don’t know which I hate more,
work, or myself.

Mountain Time is the dumbest idea ever

It’s really only a buffer between Central and Pacific.

It’s always next week.

The problem is, she’d put up with too much of my shit.
But I can’t tell her that, because she needs to put up with his shit.

So, in addition to going to see a doc about atheism in which someone reads from “the book of the Easter Bunny” (likely a nod to the recent “Simpsons” rerun in which Homer says to Ned, “and did not the Easter Bunny himself say...!”) from a big wood board, in Braille, and then this girl who was kinda cute, but I wasn’t really that attracted to, was talking to me about it, we were hugging and smiling, ’cause I told her flat out, “You’re wrong,” on this one thing, maybe from arguing at that Afghan bread girl at the farmers’ market, and I was raving about Sam Harris’ segment in the film which I’d seen, or seen something similar to parts of on YouTube, and then I was walking down lower Shattuck, like before the fire station and on the way to Berkeley Bowl with Frank B., and the Sikh from the farmers’ market, in fact, come to think of it, had opened up a storefront down there, and there was a sign that said “[Something] and Farmers Market,” and I remember thinking, “someone should tell that Punjabi dude this doesn’t really count as what English-speakers would think of as a farmers’ market.

But, Speedbump was in my dream. In a picture. And The Baby. And The Baby looked so old, like as old as he did in that picture I glanced at—shit, he’s about to turn two!—and I remember saying, “Fuck it, I give up, on getting him anything or even trying to be a part of his life,” but then, somehow, I obviously couldn’t mean it, huh? ’cause in the next scene I’m in some store I’ve been in before, asking the saleslady about developmentally appropriate toys for two-year-olds, and then I was in a bike shop, watching the proprietor’s kid ride a trike around like right before they were about to close. I was going to try and get a new, metal tricycle, instead of a used plastic one. They’re not cheap (at least in the dream).

Why the helling fuck would they do this?

So I see an ad in my Gmail.  “Urdu Speak,” it awkwardly ungrammatically proclaims.  Oh! I think, maybe Rosetta Stone finally got Urdu after so long of just having Hindi.  So, fuck it, I click the link.  It takes me to a page: “Start with our free online demo.”  Included in the list is Spanish (Latin America) (which it defaults to, as if it’s that much different from) Spanish, (Spain), English, French, German, Italian, and… Swedish?

No Urdu.  No Hindi.  No non-European language, none of their other myriad offerings.  Not even a link to check out any other courses for not free.  Why did I even bother to click this?

wtf?

The hurt never really goes away.
You just manage to somehow stop fixating on it.

It’s not that I don’t want anybody else… It’s just that I don’t love anybody else more. And there’s a difference