Will probably look at tomatoes and alpacas, and contemplate drunken sailordom some more.
P.S. -- just got a mass email from my legal alma mater's alumni career counselor, which she sent out to touch base with all of us job-seekers. I love the way she talks. She tries to be really enthusiastic, but she always puts in these little backhanded remarks to deflate our hopes, dropping hints that either seem to say we're headed for another great depression or which devalue us for being in the position of needing to look for work, as though that meant that by definition, we are totally retarded. As in: "I know it's been a while since I spoke with many of you, and very probably few of you have been successful in your search . . ." It's almost endearing, like an unusual form of Tourette's Syndrome. "Wow, your resume is really polished now, looking pretty good THE ECONOMY IS SHIT YOU'LL NEVER WORK AGAIN AAAA!!!"
* Writing poems based on the paintings of Mark Ryden.
* Writing poems about exactly what you can do with a drunken sailor. So far we've played a game of chess and gone to the library.
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You're John Keats! You were born poor, trained to
be a doctor, and then decided you wanted to be
a poet. You threw yourself into poetry with
great dedication. You're very nice and
extremely dedicated to your art. You write
great letters and sexy poetry. It's amazing
how much you got done in your short lifetime.
Ah, Keats. Unfortunately, I guess, I am not a major Romantic poet but rather an incredibly minor poet of unknown school. Luckily, I'm going to a "chocolate tasting" tonight, which should distract me from my miserable lack of fame and aesthetic allegiance.
Brandon's Chic Shoebox
Hillary's Light 'n' Comfy Hangout
Paul's Pivoting Perfection
Patrick's Cosmo-Urban Studio Rental
Robert's Golden Handcuffs.
All the apartments are under 500 square feet. The smallest is only 185 square feet.
* I had the fear.
* I sent out some poems to some magazines for the first time in mooooonnnnnttthhhss.
* I thought that it would be a lovely idea to have a bathtub shaped like a giant teacup.
* I thought about writing poems about my imaginary conversations with John Ashbery, except I never have any.
* I read about the brain.