|
12:03 am I put down my ancient copy of Slaughterhouse Five. I'm not sure if I'm re-reading the book (I've been re-reading a lot of books I missed in school due to other collegiate obligations such as alcoholism) or reading it for the first time. Some of it seems familiar, but much also seems vague. It’s probably one of the many reading assignments I was given in college that we went over in class but I never quite managed to finish. I might have even written a paper on it (I was quite adept at writing papers on texts I had never read), so I make a mental note to look for the folder that has all my college essays in it. I don't know why I keep these essays. Perhaps if I ever have children, I'll sell them to the kids and make a quick buck.
The downstairs neighbors' dogs are barking like hell. I very much want to open the window and yell "Shut the fuck up." Unfortunately, this is my girlfriend's building and while I have no qualms alienating my own neighbors, I know that it might be bad form to alienate Rachel's for her. I fantasize about knocking on the door of their apartment and saying, "if you can't shut your dogs up, get rid of them."
I wait out the dogs and read a little more.
Rachel is snoring next to me. I should tape it one of these nights and play it back to her since she doesn't believe me when I tell her she snores.
I debate having a last cigarette for the night and decide against it. I'm coming off a cold and I don't need the irritation.
12:10 am I light up a last cigarette.
12:16 am Billy Pilgrim became unstuck in time several nights ago. He has just traveled back to his experience as a POW. He’s taking shit from a German surgeon for dressing in a blue toga and silver boots. I fantasize that if I was in a war, I'd dress as ridiculously as possible to mock the event, but that’s stepping into Klinger territory, and let's face it, Klinger was never anyone's favorite character on MASH. Billy Pilgrim is introduced to the Slaughterhouse in Dresden. The end of chapter 6, a good place to stop.
The dogs finally stop barking. I hate the selfishness of urban dog owners. Dogs bark. Dogs shit. They require space to move. Yet the urban dog owner makes neighborhoods suffer through late-night barking, mounds of dogshit peppering the sidewalks, and makes the dog suffer the confinement of an apartment in a rowhome or a small concrete back lot simply because they, the urban dog owner, want to have a dog. This type of person is irredeemable.
The lesbians downstairs make a series of slams and thuds and mumble something, but her dogs are silent now. At least they aren't playing their lame Ani DiFranco chick rock bullshit.
I still resolve to go to bed angry which should be easy since I'm feeling sick and my muscles are sore from helping a friend move on Saturday.
Rachel started snoring again, this time with more determination than before.
The midnight train rolls by late. Outside it's raining. I can sleep to these noises, so I shut off the light to get the full six hours sleep, determined tomorrow to go to bed earlier.
Why is the sound of a car on wet asphalt so soothing?
I like to imagine people going places while I remain stationary in bed.
I'm not so angry anymore. I cuddle up next to naked girlfriend. It's fading...
12:16 am - 6:00 am I get up a couple of times in the night and go to the bathroom. I don't really have to go, it's just that my sleep has been rather fitful over the last few weeks, and I need a break from the dreaming. I think a lot of important, brilliant things at these times. Epiphanies; understandings of the universe that would change our lives in drastic and better ways, but when I focus on these thoughts and come out of the twilight sleeping haze, I realize I was merely thinking things like "I like blueberries because they are blue and because they are berries." My dreams won't make the world a better place after all. Back to sleep.
(excerpt from Daybook1)
|
HOME | ORDER | ABOUT DAYBOOK