I’m so tired of cowards who say they want…

I’m reading Bee Season. Is that an Oprah book, does anyone know? It’s certainly popular enough.

Anyway, the point is it’s sucking me in as no book has in a long time. I read for an hour before work this morning and when I finished, my brain had that pleasantly satiated feeling your body gets after a workout. But this is not a hard book. I think it’s just the effect of putting all my concentration into one thing; it’s an addictive feeling. Maybe I should start concentrating intensely on everything I do. Don’t be surprised if, next time you talk to me, I am gazing at you with the single-minded stare of a serial killer.

Yesterday I was talking to that boy MATT HOLOHAN about how Berkeley has become for both of us a minefield of ex-romances. Well last night I stepped on a mine, so if I’m looking a little shrapnel-ish, now you know why. The worst conversation in the history of chat is the “Why why why” conversation. Mind you when it’s me getting the boot, I am the master of this talk, and in fact managed to make it last for three months with the Sicilian. Bjork says “If you forget my name, you will go astray like a killer whale choked in a bay.” Well, he will never forget me at least. I will live on in his nightmares.

My minefield is laid out like this:

Avoid Brewed Awakening after 9:30 on weekdays.

Avoid the couches at Brewed Awakening every morning.

Avoid Nefeli during the day, and in the evenings on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Avoid Jupiter like the plague.

Avoid Thelassa except on Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

Avoid I-House in the evenings.

Mainly I just cower in my house like a crabbit (props if you get the reference), and frankly that seems to be working out for me. Except for tomorrow when I’m going to Stinson and I’ll see you there.