I (opposite of) QUIT.
Alright, after months of just being a creepy follower, maybe I will actually put some content on here.
Some things about last night, Friday night:
I like staying in on at least one weekend night. Weekends are so totally overrated, and if I go out I usually end up drinking way too much and saying too much to people I don’t know that well and then regretting it for the rest of my two days of freedom [read: last weekend].
So I stayed in, cleaned my house, and listened to people’s muxtapes. I have ants right now, so I am really in to cleaning my apartment. The ants that come here, they don’t know where the food is. The congregate in my bathtub of all places! And they can’t get out really. I feel bad killing ants. They are hard workers. They just need to take a fucking hint: NOT WELCOME.
When I am sweeping and scrubbing and shining and dusting, bad poetry goes through my head, stuff about my fingernails proving that time is passing by, but it is too bad to write down.
There is a tiny space between my counter and refrigerator, and I always swipe the broom between it to get the dust and crumbs. Last night I noticed a little magnet hiding way in the back, I could tell it was from one of those sets of magnetic poetry. I remembered the couple that lived here before had the set on their fridge when I came to look at the place, two years ago. “I hope the word is something meaningful and symbolic,” I thought, feeling expectant and poignant.
Later I watched Fight Club because I like to watch movies I have seen a million times. Whether they are good or bad. Edited for TV or not. Commercials? Just draw the movie out even longer, perfect. I think Fight Club is all kinds of misogynist but also really good. “You are the all singing, dancing crap of the world,” says Tyler Durden.
The little rectangular word that I found in a secret spot on my fridge after nearly two years of inhabiting this space was: understand.
