Saturday, October 01, 2005

Sociological Imagination

Last night all night I just ached, my toes cold, bones knocking, dreams stiff and sore. It was too hot and extra groggy in the morning, the coffee he left on the bedside table tepid. I am vaguely irritable and wandering around in a huge grey robe staring out at the rain. The only thing I woke up excited about was an old Sociology textbook I know is buried under volumes of zines and scene pamphlets that I for some reason feel obliged to hold onto, toting from place to place till they crumble to dust. The textbook has some anchor in the murky sleep, but it eludes me.

I hate the immemorable notfunness of the inbetween moods, biding time and cotton-mouthed till I feel sparkly and poignant again.

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