(no subject)

Gallery girl was wounded by a recent break up. Experience says walk away immediately, which I will. Funny how experience only is a recent development, that it took this long to learn that lesson. I only feel now that I can guide it, the whole messy fun filled ticket. All decisions are yours, external only partially overlaps the self. Everything is material to be devoured.

Misc

Jason mentioned he had a dream he found an old man's cardigan with a scorpion embroidered on it. That's the fourth or so scorpion reference within the last couple of weeks; something in the collective unconscious, or random chance. Since it's in the story I'm writing, I'd just pull it out of the thousands of words I came across in a day.

I'm not going to be able to resist contacting the woman from the gallery. Too much of sucker for arty girls with glasses and short bangs. Sure it won't end well, if it goes anywhere at all. Don't care. It's already been awkward enough that it's funny.

Even halftime work affects my ability to write. At least I'm still reading. Flannery O'Conner develops characters like her eyes could scan someone she saw in real life in two or three seconds, build a full history, personality and world around them, and then incorporate that half real, half imagined person into her stories. On the train, I'll go down the line and in my head write a description of each person, as an exercise, but it's not detailed enough. There should be those other parts.

Wonder how M is doing. We haven't spoken in a while.