"and so I choose this fate" --
Sunday, March 16, 2003
I forget what drawer my socks are in for the fifth time this week, and wonder if I should get back into shower. Did I ever shower to begin with? I cant remember and it doesnt seem to matter...
Somewhere in this drawer are two socks that match, but either my eyes cant see them or my brain is unable to connect them. As a child, I avoided games like Memory, and now I'm paying the price.
I blink.
"Hmm, this must be the underwear drawer", I say out loud, as I once again attempt to manually reconstruct the mental map of my bedroom that has semi-permanently etched into the storage blocks of my brain. The socks and the shorts traded places in some bizarre laundry accident last week, and since then nothing has been the same. The traffics gotten heavier. Or maybe I've become more rushed? Even the sun shines in the fog-belt of the Outer Sunset. I say, somethings just not right in the universe...
In the sock drawer all the fucking socks are white. "Dumb luck", I think to myself.
I decide I'm going to affix a sign to the sock drawer; the word SOCKS scribbled on a piece of yellow duct tape. I realize that I'll need more signs. UNDERWEAR TO THE LEFT, PANTS DOWN BELOW and DONT FORGET TO CLOSE THE DRAWER immediately come to mind. My dresser would look like the back of a '74 Volkswagen en route to some hippie convention by the time I was through. I realize that I cant even read my own handwriting. Fuck the signs.
I forget to close the drawer.
Aa.
