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001: incoherency is key   
01:40am 12/05/2004
 
mood: lazy
music: euro trash girl by chicks on speed
It’s 1:40am. Underneath the dark purple skies, and inside the illuminated windows, beholds the food-crazed insomniac pensively brooding around a desk of crumpled and disorganized papers. I told myself I’d a write a book one day, but procrastination takes it’s toll every so often with excuses as to why I shouldn‘t waste my energy writing like, I‘m too busy or I’m too tired or—my personal favorite—it‘s not alluring enough, so why bother? I don’t even know what to name it. Locked In Reticence? How about, Tacitly Screaming: A Memoir of Anorexia and Social Anxiety? See, if the title isn’t even "alluring" enough, what makes me think the content will be either?

I take a small sip of coffee with one hand, and with the other, flip through the fifth edition of Understanding Psychology by Charles G. Morris and Albert A. Maisto in a reading-just-because frenzy. On page 509, an article about the compliance and obedience of the Nazi concentration camp would be an interesting read if it weren’t for the fact I’m entranced by the curve the ribcage and hipbones make on a man’s torso. What disturbs me isn’t the emaciated man staring desolately at the camera, but that I’m not at all disturbed and that somewhere in my macabre mind, I find his dying physique aesthetically appealing.

If every morning could be like yesterday, where it takes an hour and a half to eat a cup of dried cheerios, I’d probably be half the size I currently am now. If every morning could be like yesterday, where I read ardently in a state of transfixion, I’d probably be a lot smarter too. It’s funny how procrastination slithers it’s way into every aspect of my life. I mean, why can’t I procrastinate when it’s more convenient?

I was thinking about getting out more. Maybe I could go to the library and put a job application in. Shuffling Burger King and a job at the library wouldn’t be as strenuous as, say, the daycare at Gold’s Gym . Then again, propping two year old babies on your lap while they vomit on your shirt for $6.50 an hour is better than nothing. I could also maybe sit in the Murray Hill Theatre’s café where I can drink overpriced coffee and listen to hipsters in the Jax scene scream histrionically into the microphone while girls with studded belts ask, “Hey, what are you reading?”. It definitely beats Burger King. Conversing with infuriating customers who drone constantly about the six dollar value meal and make ordering a simple whopper some algebraic equation of fire-grilling hell really isn't socializing, is it?

But you know what? I’ll probably be too busy or too tired to do any of that, like I’m too busy and too tired to finish this entry decently.		  
     

(1 / emerge into nothing)
 
 
eurotrashfuck
 
 

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