2003-04-06 - 6:35 p.m.

So I’m looking for something to do. I’m always looking for something to do. I should study but I already know everything. You see, right there. I know how to lie to myself at least.

I walk around a native American festival on campus and watch as an ancient people try to simultaneously respect their culture, keep it alive, and exploit it. I buy some modern Native American Food – and no, that does not mean McDonald’s.

I go to café Roma to hang out and write some poetry. I see Chuck sitting off on the side. He’s in his own world. If we make eye contact I’ll nod, but if I have a conversation with everyone I know that I run into I’ll have no time. Not because I know so many people but because I can’t shut up. I’m writing a poem that was inspired by my last diary entry. And I start seeing all these graduate Students that I know come in. They start looking my way and nodding. We have short conversations. They’re putting on a poetry reading and I just happened to be there to watch. I talk to Darcy, one of my instructors, about our last class. She has already told a few people about my crazy activity of bashing the Beatles. The reading is great. Very funny. It was hosted by Jodi Angel. A woman that was born to rock the mic. Many of the grad. Students said that they will show up at write Club this quarter. Everyone says they’ll show up, but do they? I believe bodies in the seats, and that’s it.

After that I call back Kristin because she called me during the reading but I was wedged in and couldn’t get out of the forces of poetry. Kristin doesn’t answer her phone. I call her cell. No answer. She says she is may be at South hall on campus I walk over to see if her car is there but it isn’t. Her roommates use up the computer line so I assume that is the reason there is no answer. I drive to her house and her car is there so I knock. I go in and she’s drinking jack and coke and watching a film about lesbians called High Art. I’m welcome to join her so I do. She pours me a Jack and Coke and we watch the movie and talk about her love life or lack there of, and my love life or lack there of. Soon Grace will join us and talk about lacking and loving along with us. Before she does though I get a phone call from Aisha. She is drunk and in Seattle. I talk to her about her trip for about ten minutes. The phone call gives me hope that maybe she’s interested in me, but like I said before – she’s interested in everything. I just wonder who else she would call but me. I’m the guy she calls. Because I’m the guy that cares. I’m the nice guy. I’m the guy that listens. I’m the guy that kisses well. I’m the guy that will be there in the morning and knows how to hold her so our hearts beat with matching rhythms. I’m the guy that would match her well. That would teach her about life and just as she can teach me about life. The guy that would be inspired to write brilliant poetry about her and make her famous along with myself one day, or the guy to inspire brilliant poetry by her so we can once again be famous together one day. I’m the guy that tries to hard because I don’t play games. I’m as honest as true love, true loneliness, and true death. I’m the guy that probably makes her feel uneasy about herself because I’m what she wants but she’s too afraid to have what she wants because she may fuck things up and dislike herself for losing what she wants. I’m the guy that’s taken for granted. Her cell phone breaks up and our conversation ends.

Kristin isn’t fond of Aisha because she worries like a mother. She thinks Aisha is trouble. She says Aisha insulted her the other night and tried to trip her and Grace. She can believe that, I’m not one to discount a friend’s belief, but I think Aisha and all of us were drunk so there is a reason behind everything. Grace shows up while we’re watching I Shot Andy Warhol. We start to paint. Actually they paint and I drink until they finally persuade me to paint something. I slash various red colors onto canvas and try to coyly write "FUCK" here and there. My first painting since high school art class. My only painting outside of school.

Grace gets really drunk while watching "The Piano." She is horny and lonely as we all are. That means we have an orgy of what Kristin would call "bitching." We give commentary on the movie and sometime in the small hours we realize it is day light savings and we lost an hour. We go to sleep at almost 5 in the morning. I sleep on one of Kristin’s couch.

I wake up and Grace, who slept on Kristin’s other couch, is already awake. She painting more. All that sexual frustration over just breaking up her boyfriend is really fueling her. Art without sex is like war with weapons. I get up and go to work for 7 hours. I’m supposed to hang out with my family tonight. It’s nice to have something to do.

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