north star tim

I’m a movie junkie, at least lately. I probably get along too well with my cat. There was a police car parked beneath my window at 4am this morning and I felt afraid. I haven’t gotten my clothes from the dryer in four days. I drink Coca-Cola in two-liter sittings, and from the bottle. I leave my coffee percolator on for days sometimes.

I smoke impressively, with drama. I feel my own smallness when I listen to great music. I wonder sometimes about lust, but only sometimes. I’m friendly on the phone with creditors, perhaps moreso than with most other people. I’ve chased three stray cats clear off my second-story balcony (they jumped out of fear).

I smiled at a beautiful girl as I left the room with the money machine, even though I knew she was avoiding me. I get mad at printing companies when they make mistakes. I deny myself things and call it virtue. I haven’t written anything worthwhile in almost a year. I spend long stretches of time without seeing anyone but strangers. I’m sometimes aware of the good I do.

I use the word ‘love’ too easily, and only realize this in times of crisis. I want to play drums and piano. I want to make movies. I haven’t scrubbed my bathroom in three months. I’ve been going to sleep after 7am again, despite months of trying to wake at that time. I speak with authority on things I know little about. I’m still working on really old dreams.

The walls in my dining room have stood bare for two years. I sometimes say the truth. I don’t feel lonely very often. I wish my women friends would leave their lovers, but not because I want them myself. I’m proud of my expensive calculator, though I use it only to add, multiply, divide, and subtract. I need to see a dentist. I smoke far too much. I’m frequently unable to cry.

I dislike cars in general, but I love to drive long distances on the highway. I’m more judgemental than I’d like to be, especially with regards to pop music and television. I think other people waste too much time. I spend weeks drifting and justify it later. I take baths. Someone called me at 3am this morning and I didn’t answer the phone.

I sometimes have a strong vision of my life, and where it’s leading. I never know where my next rent payment will come from (actually, I did have the cash in advance three times in the last year and a half). I used to romanticize the struggle of living without. I made $500 one year from donating plasma. I once spent $200 on cocaine.

I’ve quit making schedules (I used to use color). I love very few people, though each of these strongly. I bore people with my ranting of this or that vision, and business details. I’ve never called the pizza guy “Joe” and never offered him my name. I flirt with waitresses. I sometimes get very tired of things. I have skillful hands.

I miss one woman terribly and often wonder if I’ll ever hear from her again. I have four phone numbers and three phone lines. I live alone. I’m ambivelant when opening my mailbox. I can make as many as five long-distance calls in one night, then go months without calling anyone.

I like candles. I still have my grammar school yearbook. I wonder sometimes if people think I’m fooling myself. I’ve kept a journal for twelve years. I never write in pencil. I think I’m living a real life, though forget this at times.

My greatest fear is to die before things are finished. My greatest hope is to someday get across. I desperately want to have children. I believe in the future. I’m pretty sure that love can last.

(March 1994)