The Bread and Salt

Oh God, I can't believe what I have said and I sit here mixed with dread and fear and God, I don't even remember half of the crap that went on and I am getting sick of nights that pass me in streaks and of this feverish runny nosed burn that always accompanies this class. (It is 9:00 AM.) But at least I got his phone number (the drugs) and it's not all a total loss. (In fact, I'm fucking psyched-- not that I'll ever get the guts to call.)

And I must never forget that all of this is created. (First she created the bread and salt and then she believed in them religiously. Thanks Katerina Ivanovna!)

And Solomon just passed me.

It seems that nobody (no one!) is out this morning and I am wondering whether or not I will be able to look him in the eye.

It is really gray and damp today, but in a beautiful way of death with only the few stray echoes of morning birds. And the later it grows, the more likely it is that he already has passed (I think) but I hate incoherency like this and messed up handwriting and in three more minutes I will make myself go upstairs.

But fuck! I promised that I wouldn't do this anymore. I promised that there would be no more of these mornings. (But God, if it weren't for yesterday, I wouldn't have that number! I'll check it later.)

Okay, he passed brightly and I just want to die. (Lai, Lai they cry!) Okay. I should go up.

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Anyway, so I did go up. And now I'm sitting in class and listening to Mozart and wondering how such a big fucking deal can mean absolutely nothing, nothing, nothing to anyone else.

Now class is about to start...