(The typed version of the following scanned images from my moleskine notebook follow.)

December 17, page 1

December 17, page 2

December 17, page 3

December 17, page 4

I remember reading that Neil (Citizen of the Month) writes his entries out on paper first before typing them up for the internet, and I thought I'd give it a try. I've done it a handful of times when I found myself without a computer and with idle hands in need of occupation, but for some reason I became way too thoughtful and kept sticking the end of the pen in my mouth and looking off into the middle distance like some fanciful poet, and frankly, I kind of annoyed myself. So, when I thought I'd give this pen and paper a try, I decided that I couldn't get all pensive and self-important when I did it, so I thought I'd go as stream-of-consciousness as I am capable of, which is hard for me, because I'm always stopping to look off into the middle distance like I have all these important poetic things to say.

I was watching the Palinode eat some leftover rice that I made yesterday, and he put hot sauce all over it. He puts hot sauce all over everything, which is fine if he likes it that way, but suddenly I was all [peeved], because when I made the rice and vegetables I threw in soup stock and lemon juice and butter and whatnot to make it taste really good, and then he throws gobs of hot sauce on it, and hot sauce drowns out the notes of more delicate flavours (ie. EVERYTHING), making it all just taste like hot sauce, which is not what this oft-failed cook spent time trying to create. But really, fuck it, because I actually wrote the phrase "drowns out the notes of more delicate flavours" and I like to eat peanut butter, garlic, and onion sandwiches, so who am I to challenge his one-hit flavour wonder, the habanero?

This paper is wrinkling up, because I am writing this in the tub. I had the forethought to drape a towel over the edge to keep the moleskine cover from getting wet and also to wipe the condensation from my wrists and hands, but I still keep soaking the bottom edge of the paper, so the ink's running through a bit.

I am reading White Noiseby Don DeLillo, and wow, it's doing good things in my brain. His characters are both smart and stupid simultaneously, which is the human condition, maddening as it is, and he nailed it. I'm only on page 66, so I should give it some time yet, but as it stands, I want to holler "Take me with you, Don DeLillo! Teach me the art of creating middling college professors who are too idle for happiness!" This particular exchange sticks in my head like a poem or a religious text that won't let go:

"Either I'm taking something and I don't remember or I'm not taking something and I don't remember. My life is either/or. Either I chew regular gum or I chew sugarless gum. Either I chew gum or I smoke. Either I smoke or I gain weight. Either I gain weight or I run up the stadium steps."

"Sounds like a boring life."

"I hope it lasts forever," she said.

This bath is making me hot and slow. The sweat is running along the lines of my torso, and there's no energy for soap and pumice stones. I think I'm going to crawl back into bed for awhile until I have the energy to pick up my prescription and maybe some of that green health juice that makes me pucker.

I love this long, idle Sunday.