Cold Weather and Records

Bathrooms floors are never the best places to sleep. My hypersensitivity to sounds sent me in there last night. The bathroom floor was hard and cold as I bundled up with my two blankets and pillows next to the white basin. I heard a knock at the door, it was Sarah, she needed to use the bathroom, I floated back into my bed, a few seconds later. A few hours later I woke up in my warm but deflated air mattress. I did not get the best of both worlds, last night.

I woke up, made some coffee and decided to stay in for the day. It's cold out. 19 Degrees. Twelve hours before, I was battling the cold. After one block away from the bar, I broke down and grabbed a cab. "I broke down and got a cab! It's so cold!" I said to the cabbie. He said, "I know! My throat is starting to hurt, I think I might go home after this." Twenty minutes later, we were outside my apartment. I gave him ten dollars in tip. Others have shown me that kindness when I wasn't doing well, namely at my job that I hate.

I watched half an episode of the BBC program "Torchwood." Sarah came home from class and I made her breakfast. Without a computer of my own, I turned to Sarah Vowell's "Take The Cannoli." Here's my problem with books/writing I like/love: I constantly want to make what I'm reading into a film or want to capture that moment myself, rendering myself completely unoriginal. Within that I've become an adapter. Who wants to be an adapter, not me? I want to be devoid of other people's thoughts. Hence why I was so against reading (and watching films of similar nature) in the first place. Music has become the permanent inspiration for all my writing, I have decided.

So today, has officially become the cold weather and records day, as I try to write while the freezing temperatures try to penetrate my apartment. I'll let you know how that goes and if I go stir crazy or not.

(Time to flip the record, hold on).