big empty house

I don't need to talk to you, but now that you're gone (and not even 24 hours) I miss not being able to talk to you, being able to share the minutiae of my life that nobody else cares about. Maybe you don't care about it either, but I know you find it at least interesting enough as a trade-off for me listening to your little stuff.

I was gonna go that that documentary at the Ritz last night but talked myself out of it because I'm so broke right now. The movie was only $2, but you know how hard it is to go there and not order food, or at least a beer. Since I'm going out to see a movie with P and A tonight (after P feeds us -- yay!) I decided I could do without a movie last night. I felt so all-of-a-sudden alone and lonely when I dropped you off at the airport. Kinda crazy. It's that desire to fill up space instead of being with the quiet and emptiness, which I sometimes crave. I'd like to learn to appreciate it when it's given to me.

There has also been almost no work, so that financial strain puts me a little on edge, having to hover over the computer pushing the F9 key every other minute waiting for a transcription to show up. Yesterday, I missed four of them; this morning I got one and just finished it so now I'm making lunch. At least I can be released when four o'clock rolls around (five o'clock in NYC) if there is no work to be had; those people don't often stay past five. I decided last night that I could/should work on chapter sixteen, this monster, instead of avoiding it again by going out or making up songs on Garage Band.

When I dropped you at the airport, I had an hour before yoga. Not enough time, I told myself, to get involved with writing, so I did play on Garage Band awhile, but made myself turn it off when I got back, and I did get some good writing done, I think. I had a beer and a cigarette and then some pot because I figured that's what I would've done had I gone to the movie, and I didn't want to deny myself any of my vices!

When I got to my yoga teacher's apartment building, I came upon a barn swallow on the railing at the top of the stairs. It was so beautiful, with his rusty head, white belly and iridescent blue-black back, and those little scissor tail feathers (which aren't really all that "little," they were at least as long as his body). I got almost close enough to reach out and touch him before he flew off (not that I tried). We had a nice moment together.

Okay, what's with straight men and me? My yoga teacher reached between my legs from behind while I was in downward dog, to assist me in the stretch, pretty high up on my thighs. Of course, no one could accuse him of anything for that (least of all me), but later, when I was doing a standing pose with my legs spread, my hands clasped behind me, bent over, he came to help lengthen my stretch by gently pushing my arms further over my head. He stood in front of me, told me to lean into him -- which I do happily... Yesterday, while he was gently manipulating my bound hands, I swear he rubbed them across the scruff of his unshaved face. I couldn't see what was happening, so I don't know if it was an accident or what really happened, so I really don't know what his intent was -- and he could surely deny any accusation I could make (not that I ever would), but dang! It sure makes me curious... It does help me to keep up my yoga practice, if not other things (ha-ha).

Speaking of which, I've decided lately to start injaculating when I masturbate, in hopes of keeping my creative (and other) energies within me. I know it sounds kind of new agey, but I actually think it's working.

Back to my vices, though, and my number one (and perhaps yours, too?): sugar. I finished off the blackberry cobbler (ala mode, natch) when I got home from yoga and was still thinking I would go to the movie at the Ritz at 10 (and have "dinner" there). Shortly after I decided against going out, I heated up a little posole and had that (because I was feeling kind of funky from that sugar blast on an empty stomach after an intense yoga workout). I also had the beer, cig and weed I already mentioned and had to talk myself out of having another dessert later in the evening when the munchies struck!

Actually, I didn't have very much posole, so when I moved my writing operation in from the front porch to the bed, I got myself a little bowl of chips and then another. I wrote until 12: 30 last night -- and, hey, it's 12:30 again right now! I've been working pretty steadily on chapter sixteen all day, except for the hour-and-a-half of transcription work I managed to snag. I'm at the kitchen table now, finished with lunch; I probably oughta go back to the computer to wait for more work and write more there.

Oh, and I meant to mention this bad/sad bit of news: While I was writing on the front porch last night, back house R came by to tell me that upstairs R's younger brother committed suicide on Saturday. That poor woman, what a fucked up family that must be.

Anyway, I hate to end on a downer note, but I'll write more later. Oh, here's something "cheery": My mom might come stay with me for a weekend while you're gone. That'll be fun.

Love you,