Chokyo

          I was frustrated this morning when there was no pizza left for me, since I'd only had a bit last night and asked that some be left for breakfast. So, no breakfast; I suppose it's just as well to get into the habit now. At work, I had a peaceful shift organizing the periodicals. Kati congratulated me on my work product and attention to detail, though she did say that my enthusiasm for a website building project could have come through more clearly. My skills at interacting with people seem to evaporate when I walk into work, sometimes. I don't know what it is.
          Jennifer and I walked from the office to Central. We had dinner at Bertucci's, though she was only willing to eat a little bit, and we soon moved to a bench and sat and watched people go by. A dog was hanging out on the sidewalk, and it reminded me how badly I want my own dog. We sat in at a poetry slam at the Cantab Lounge, a dark, subterranean bar and stage. A variety of poets stood up and delivered, some great and some not so much. Several older poets performed, which was cool to see, and my favorite of the lot was a conversational guy later on in middle age -- "translucent beaks pecking at regurgitated questions."
          A slow, creeping panic forced me (us) to leave. My brain likes to agonize about problems and obligations at times when I'm in no position to deal with them. I wrote a poem to try and deal with it, which seemed to help. Jennifer was kind about it, and we split at Park for the evening. I went home and smoked with Jules, Alaric, Nathan and Dylan, then figured out where my bed would go (Nathan and Alaric graciously retrieved it from the parking garage for me.) With the bed in place and a general idea for the rest of the furniture, I started organizing the closet to clear some floor space. For the rest of the evening I listened to musicians like Andrew Jackson Jihad and Laura Stevenson, who like to root out their little neuroses and hold them up to the light for examination. I put up my first decoration -- a placard from the slam -- and so my own begins again.
          Quote of the day:
Jennifer: "Stalin's hot."
Me: "I don't think so."
Jennifer: "Stalin's really hot. I would break up with you for Josef Stalin."