Thursday

or

maybe i'll go completely first-person and be really honest about my lack of knowledge and general anxieties. nah.
maybe i'll only post about the day before and tomorrow (see how plans match up)
maybe i should have blogged under a pseudonym or something equally distant
maybe i will feel compelled to measure up to all the man wits
maybe i'll describe my realization tonight that my room is set up to appear as if a very specific kind of person lived here

probably no current events commentary
not a lot of time to read for fun; probably not a lot of literature commentary--feel insecure about critical ability in something i know relatively little about (but plenty of time to play hand-held tetris if tonight is any example)
some time for art shows but no real time/interest right now in own art; probably some commentary on shows though
might not share blog address with parents (don't want to appear self-indulgent)
will probably decide, "who cares?" and delete blog; will probably wonder if this manifests a problem with commitment or a problem with ubiquitous insignificance; will then feel bad about it and wonder if i did the right thing.
(see top of post.)

--

but, tonight, from susan howe's singularities,

This is my birthday
These are the old home trees

and from rob halpern's rumored place,

No infinities--more like endless links.

and from a card from my grandmom,

Love,
Grandmom


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