Started with Naomi screaming at six in the morning. I don't know what the deal is. She's shouting, being cheeky constantly. Can't get to sleep or sleep alone to save her life. I spent the night on the floor again. Mei was crying: wouldn't stop crying. I was actually thinking, as I was trying to rock Mei and keep Naomi satisfied and quiet enough that I could watch the webcast of the Frightened Rabbit show at the Pitchfork festival, what am I doing with my life — I'm too young for this.
They're both sleeping now. I read some Rick Jackson poems. Stretched and felt better.
I ran today for about five miles. Yesterday I ran for about ninety minutes, although I'm not really sure how far I went. Today, it rained on me. The kind of rain that you would never go out to run in, but run for your life to get out of. And then within a block of the house, it stopped.
Still watching the Pitchfork stream. Pharrell is shouting at a crowd of shoe-gazing, white, indie kids from Chicago, 'Show me your titties!' No, Pharrell, this is not the crowd for that. Good try though. Now the Thermals are playing. This is much better. I'd be willing to show them my titties, actually.
You know what all this bad karma deserves? Mei's visa coming in the mail tomorrow morning. If that were to happen, I could book my tickets to Barcelona for my friend's wedding in August and the trip to Paris, and I could stop complaining to you.
This week I will finish the first draft of my dissertation and start thinking to myself, what am I supposed to do now that I'm finished with all of this?