Little pieces of the day fall into the crack unmentioned but worth remembering, time the culprit for lost thoughts. If I could make note of the things I forget would it be for the best, or would I read it in a year and ask why I cared enough to write it? But not having the time to write makes me want to write it all down.

The days pass so quickly. Cherry blossoms are beautiful on the tree but once they fall they stick like old tissue paper and become mushy before they disintigrate.



Went to the sushi place with the walls painted black, pop culture trendy, gigantic oil paintings of faces, colorful ribbons hanging from the ceiling, unpainted pine panels, mood lighting and sexy waitresses, fish tank with the most gorgeous black angel fish, music loud enough to hear it's Japanese rock. Sounded to me like a cross between Steely Dan and Depeche Mode, like it's the 1980s again. Or some approximation of that. Miso soup and unagi don and sake, and it's rainy and cold and dark so give it to me hot, baby.



I'm tired.

Life with a grad student... what do you want for dinner? is a quietly resigned question that requires so much consideration.

Not so tired as he, his eyes lusterless, glazed over by computer screens and mountains of paper and books. One more week. His shoulders feel like cast iron.



Been drinking too much wine but I never get drunk, nor do I turn into a whiner except sometimes in my own head. And then this voice that sounds like my Grandma says Hey, knock it off.

If I live that long I know I'm going to be a sweet old lady who smiles all the time except when I arch my eyebrow, with a backbone of ramrod steel, patient as the longest day but singing of Olaf glad and big, no shit for me and thank you kindly.


I got pinched this morning.Thank you, sweet man. It was nice.