I'M ON A BUS ON A PSYCHEDELIC TRIP READING MURDER BOOKS TRYIN TO STAY HIP


How to Procrastinate: A Primer

It's probably the Universe speaking to you when you go to the coffeehouse you always go to and their power is out. Coincidence? I don't think so. There was no electricity in The Coffeehouse of Ideas, where I keep my secret stash of inspiration under one of the benches and without electricity, you cannot have espresso drinks, which leaves me with a dead brain. Also, without electricity, you cannot get a grilled cheese sandwich on a croissant. This is like being kicked in the teeth by a boot with forks for soles. Then, there's the whole lack of a/c thing happening, which is exactly why I left my apartment in the first place.

Alert Power Love readers: I love you, so I tell you this from the bottom of my heart: do not think that it's a good idea to bake a potato in your oven when it's 435 degrees outside with 234% humidity.

So that's how I ended up here, at this other coffeehouse. This one has furniture furniture, like someone put effort into picking it out, unlike The Coffeehouse of Ideas, which has a recently-poached-from-the-neighbor's-garbage vibe. This worries me, because I think I'm underdressed.


Now Playing: INXS! This Time! This time will be the last tiiiiime that we will fight like this.

The radio is blaring and the radio is playing songs from the early 90s, which is a bit of a time warp for me, or would be, if I could remember the early 90s, which I can't, probably because I was in undergrad at the time and I was a very serious major in Drinking and the Art of Barfing and I was an A+ student. Also, I had a soft spot for the much-maligned hallucinogenics, which apparently multiply once they come in contact with college campuses, so I spent a good deal of time wondering why all the greeks had snakes coming out of their heads and why all the hipsters wore face paint. Go Big 10! I-L-L! I-N-I!


Alert Power Love readers: I will tell you this because I love you: when you set up your computer by the window, you cannot see the screen. Perhaps you are saying to yourself, "Well, you're the one who stole that fine-tip pen from SomeoneWhoShallRemainNamelessJeff and you're the one who carries that ridiculous journal everywhere you go, so why not use it?" To which I say: THERE ARE PEOPLE WALKING BY THE WINDOW, ALONG THE SIDEWALK, AND THEY ARE DEMANDING TO BE STARED AT.

Now Playing: The Cult! Firewoman! Twisting like a flame on a hot tin shack.

Outside there is a brown-eyed boy with short hair and a guitar case strapped around his shoulders. He's all leaning forward skinny and earnest in his looking down the street. Next to him is a girl with braided blonde hair that snakes down her back and an orange tote with a huge green flower on it, hanging over her shoulder. She looks down the street, the opposite way from the boy, worried, like maybe this isn't where they were supposed to end up. They stand close to each other without touching, like they've known each other long enough to know it feels better to be close. He turns to look at her, her anxious and possibly plotting their next move, and he smiles. His eyes travel over her shoulders to her neck and then he slips his index finger and his middle finger into the palm of her hand and gently pulls her toward him and when she looks at him, he smiles huge and happy, and then they're walking away, south, down the street, and I see her wrap her fingers around his hand.

Now Playing: U2! Pride! One man comes in the name of love.

Nice timing, radio. The longer I sit here, the further back in time I go. Pretty soon I'll be singing the alphabet song and drinking from my sippy cup. I would so rock the guitar part in "Eyes Without a Face" if I was Billy Idol's guitar player. I really just want everyone to know that.