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09.17.06 - 2:47 a.m. ugh. and this song too. the song he played in his teeny apartment and im standing there with my guitar and my bag and my nineteen year old student's writing folders and i havent stopped all day and all i can think is. This. This. This. This. even the curl of my fingers spelling it. This. And, of course, the one million things that makes everything all wrong. and ive lived in this apartment for four years and every summer turning fall this cat being fucked. Right outside my window. This terrible sound. I hate cats. Why anyone owns them is beyond me. And their owner claps for them while theyre being fucked. And its just so horrible. But i guess it makes sense. Your friends stand there and tell you not to, but you do it anyway--you go out there into the oleander and you fuck this thing youre not supposed to. and this song too--the one i played with someone entirely different. Why people own cats. Why people bother with playing an instrument. Why people bother with trying to make friends. � 
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