Sacking Up

The other day in the park, I ran past some forty-year-old stoners. I heard one say to the other, "It is sunny. In the park." And lo, it was. Later, a kid on his bike ate it on the pavement. He was in the middle of getting up when I went up and asked if he was okay and he keeled over and went, "Uuuugh!" clutching his stomach. He was about 13. Then a shrill mom-type came up and shrieked, "Is your mother here? Is your father here?" Kid then ceased the groaning and got a hold of himself. Man, adolesence is confusing: be a baby? be a man? Hard to know.

Lately, I have alternating feelings of dread and joy about things that should more or less be joyful. Running hot and cold, I think they call it. The MFA hood for the graduating gown is really cool-looking.

I've just realized I've been saying "Helvetica" wrong my entire life. Add it to the list of words that I say ridiculously wrong.

Staying up really late to write or edit is stupid, and yet gives me a clarity and a tunnel vision I can only describe as my personal anxieties stepping aside to let my brain get down to work. If only I could do this during normal working hours, it'd be better for my work and my eyes. And I could reasonably contemplate doing creative work for a living. Goes back to the be a baby question, I think. And the answer is no.