Wednesday, February 12, 2014

playing hard to get with me all night

It's black history month and all, but I'm fresh out of living black authors who I've actually read. If I can make it over the river and through the woods to my parents' house this weekend, I'll look in my old book of books I've read. There have to be some black authors in there. The trouble is that I don't set out to read black authors. I just read authors. I just read good fiction, and some of those people are black. Some are Indian. Some are Japanese. You get the picture. Speaking of books, I need to check out out on my kindle from the library, juuuust in case the power decides to go out. Why are there so many trees? My car. My apt. There are so many trees that could land on them. What if I'm in the car or apt? I read an Anne Tyler novel where the main character's wife got killed in her own house because a tree fell through the roof and then the main character started hallucinating her.

Anyway, looks like it's going to be a code red tomorrow, but I have to work anyway b/c Friday is a due date. It's the first time in a long time that there's been a traditional due date and I think everyone's a bit rusty b/c they keep asking me all the questions. I mean all the questions. And I can never articulate them correctly. Why can't I talk? I can only write. Only write.

Mike Posner is stuck in my head. I don't think it's cool to like him anymore, if it ever was cool. I've never been that cool. I read Glamour articles about Taylor Swift.

can i have a reading room full of light and books, like this?

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