17 August 2011

August 17, 2011

They’ve been double cupping my coffee at Starbucks. I keep meaning to ask them what it means, if there’s something they’re not telling me.

Last week, I tried to be a guy who wears bandanas. They made me feel like a different person, which was nice, but they also made my ears look weird.

I like giving people journals. Nice ones. Moleskines or leather bound ones — something that will last. I guess, somehow, I feel like I’m giving them all the things they’ll put inside: the entries, the experiences, etc. Somehow, I feel like I’m making those things happen, even though all I’m really doing is giving them some paper, which is hardly anything at all.

And anyways,  what if they filled it with sad things?

I was telling someone the other day about how many hours I spend in Starbucks, and they said, What a waste.

But I don’t really know what to do with money anymore. I can’t think of anything I want more than time.

Maybe I would tell someone about these attempts to control my dreams, and they would say, Why do you need to control everything? And I would say, You’re wrong. It’s not that I need to control everything. It’s that I need to control something.

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