2005-07-16 - 12:11 a.m.

Sprocket is eating an ice cube.
He looks perfectly happy. I wish my life were that easy.
I've spent most of today excavating my past again, looking for material to mine for the novel.
I don't really want to go into it here.
I think that maybe I should just say that some things never go away. Perhaps I just haven't given it enough time. Perhaps I'm expecting too much of myself.
I just don't know. I only know that something aches, still. And so I am at home, with Crocodile Dundee II--or is it III?--on the tube and a stiff vodka martini gradually eating away at my belly. Loverly.
I think the true danger of writing something down is that you expect it to go away after that. Only it doesn't. Your brain--your heart--your very insides--remember.

 

 

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