Hearng...
Sirens and wonderng if it's just normal New York mayhem or somethng more snister. Young beatniks. "Larry, the heavyset guard," from Jumpn' Jack Flash around Penn Station, I swear! Alas, there was no visual confirmation. Dong...
Thngs fairly normally agan, surprised at how easy that is, all the while half-waitng for the other shoe (or, rather, skyscraper) to drop. Feelng...
Still sick and tired, so mostly I'm stayng close to home and gettng absurd amounts of sleep until I feel up to regular activities agan. Still, I was up for a poetry readng last night. Thnkng...
These friggn' poets are young, yeesh! Most were NYU students, 8-10 years younger than my friend and I, so we felt like old ladies. Missng...
Dnner last night and breakfast this mornng because I just can't move my ass these days. Workng...
Only 9 hours yesterday -- hooray! Part of my secret plot was givng my boss my cold so he's not as productive, just as I'm feelng considerably better. Dastardly, I am. Soundng...
Much less like Froggie from Our Gang. I'm still coughng a bit, but it's not nearly as hoarse or grossly productive. Awaitng...
Money from my mommy, which makes me feel like I'm back n college. She figured I could use some extra cash right about now and she demands, if I'm not too broke, that I use some of it to help save Broadway. I might get to see The Producers after all, hooray! I never knew she was such a patron of the arts, but it's pretty darn cool. Talkng...
With everyone the past two weeks. It's been really the only comfort one can have at a time like this, even if my mom thnks I took it too hard and went mental. As only Tavia seems to understand, there's no way to react rationally to a completely crazy situation hittng so close to home. Writng...
About other stuff, for the most part, suddenly. It's a relief, but seems frivolous at the same time. Quotng...
My mother, talkng me nto gong back nto the City, "Well, you wanted to live n the center of attention!"
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 startng to get annoyed by everyday thngs agan. This mornng, sometime before 6, I got up to use the bathroom and, without it really snkng n that water was splashng my behnd, stood up n the dark and flushed. Almost immediately there was water everywhere. They do provide us with our own plungers, but it was the wimpy knd, so it just turned nside out when I tried to use it and the water kept flowng and splashng onto the floor. I was able to get most of it sopped usng all of mne and the residence's towels. I'd just packed up their nstitutional, bleached to a crisp, white sheets and towels Sunday night, havng just bought soft, warm, flannel sheets and never really usng their towels anyway. That way the maid need not come nto my room and I can break the rules with some candles and ncense now and agan. By the time I laid out all the towels across the lnoleum, and trudged back to bed over the soggy mess, it was almost time for the snooze button battle. Much to my horror, I had very much adapted to this early mornng schedule (I do miss those 10 am Zomba mornngs, but that's all about Zomba that I miss), but ever snce I moved to my new place n the Village, I've been a bit run down. If one were paranoid (oh no, not me!), one might suspect they're pipng n soporifics or dosng our meals. Every night, I'm out before I know it. In yet another parallel with my father's death, part of me thnks maybe my body was preparng me for the energy-sappng experience to come by forcng me to get extra rest for two weeks beforehand. Amazng how that works. I clearly remember my boyfriend at the time tryng to talk me nto job-huntng, because I hated Zomba so -- but I kept sayng I just didn't have the energy for anythng (whereas I'm an utter dynamo when I'm job-huntng and/or movng). That's exactly how I've felt throughout September. Most nights, except while I was runnng away, I've just gone home for dnner and passed out n my room shortly thereafter. By contrast, when I lived n Brooklyn, I stayed n Manhattan as late as possible and crashed sometime after 1 am, but always sprang up n the mornng around 5 am, a full hour before my alarm. It was a very twisted thng, snce I'm just not a mornng person. Lately it's been all I can do to stay up past 9 (11 pm this week), and drag myself out of bed by 7:30. Indeed, all this week, I've woken up around 8:06 and raced out, amazngly only a few mnutes late for work (I'm due n at 8:30). I'm anxious to "return to normalcy," but that's neither a word, nor somethng I had just prior to the WTC attack. I'm tryng to give my body the time it needs to recover, but don't want to slip nto some sort of depression or lazy slump. Gong to poetry Monday night was probably a good move, as I'm anxious to take advantage of these last dregs of good weather. Already, it's rany and cool as often as not. I generally enjoy the balmy autumn here, but it's come so, so quickly and feels like somethng's very much at its end. James and I still haven't had that dnner at a sidewalk café, what with him travelng all over creation. That was one thng I told him I looked forward to most about comng back to New York - sittng with a friend, chattng over dnner n a sidwalk café. So civilized, so urbane, so New York. Symbolically and just socially, I'd still like to do that. Time marches on - there seems so little of it, yet so much to do.
[Next entry: "Behnd, Agan"]
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