The danzig in this coffeeshop

. .  . is not as soothing as intended. A woman who looks like Judy Greer just got into a car. It stopped raining, something that disappoints me, in a sense, though it's probably for the best, as these boots aren't as waterproof as I thought. I owe a man poem feedback that won't be as complete as either of us want, I owe another man a black and white drawing for inclusion in a zine and I'm not sure when I'll be doing either thing, only that like everything, it'll happen somehow, or not.

now it's Meat Puppets covering John Denver. Its like, the guy from the Meat Puppets fronting a band that sounds like Bad Religion. It is perhaps the least important thing I could be thinking about and yet it --- oh no. It's a whole CD OF PUNK COVERS OF SONGS THAT AREN'T PUNK I don't usually feel lots of sympathy for R. Kelly, but what's happening to "I Believe I Can Fly" right now ain't right.

Oh. It's Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. OF COURSE. GLAD THIS IS CLEARED UP.

Things like this wreak havoc on any sort of health-tracking I try to do, because now all I want is to driiiiink.
(I am not going to do that right before I go into work. adulthood is the process of realizing that anything you say can and will be held against you, taken seriously and out of context)

"give me something to stop the blee-ding."

I am staring out into Swansea bay and listening to the Jesus Lizard sing ostensibly not-about-tampons, but who knows.

Jen: You're allowed to be a mess sometimes.
Keiran: . . . yeah, you're a twenty-something poet who works in a bad pub. You should get an award just for not being on fire.


sigh. still.