"sometimes i wish i had a farm where the only pollution is your cigarettes"

Lately I can't ever decide what to feed myself in a reasonable amount of time.  I don't eat all day and then come home and stare in my cupboards, and fridge, and do all the dishes, and sit around thinking about it, planning, then get up and stare in the cupboard again and examine the nutritional content of my dry goods, then close the cupboard.

Then later in a lightheadedness I eat sour gummis (worms or octopodes).  And sunflower seeds.  And fruity alcoholic drinks.  And then just sweet alcohol, until sleeptime.

This isn't a big thing.  I eat other stuff when I'm with people, like I have to have guidance on what to purchase or make for myself.  I make things for myself when I plan them well in advance and work myself into a longing for them.  But otherwise, it's like nothing sounds good enough.  Like, why eat unless it sounds really, really good?

I do a lot of that lately, relying on other people.  "I don't care what we do.  I'm up for anything."  Because it's true.  I don't know how to make plans for myself.  I don't know how to gracefully instigate minor social events.  I just want to be doing things, always, with people I like, like I've been missing out for way too long, sitting in a stupor.   

I was just looking at the sugar insanity I've been eating and remembered writing about the things I was mildly obsessed with last summer, when I was in the garden and going to Beat Poetry class and happy: Orange soda, red vines, and pistachios.  And rum.  I am anticipating the warmth.

IT IS ALL A PATTERN.

IT IS ALL A PATTERN.

Today when I got home there was a box outside my door from Hawaii containing eight pounds of various Kona coffees.

Life feels so good to me all the time lately.  

I smile every time I walk up the stairs to my home, seriously, it is weird.  

There's a Ben Kweller song, "My Apartment"...