Tuesday, 11 December 2001 | Goopy white face mask

Goopy white face mask. Two cats are sitting on my bed, both relaxed, but each still aware of the other, eyes half-open, ears half-back. Kraftwerk. My room's clean, except for a small pyramid of discarded clothing pushed to one side. Beads of rain on the window. The roar of the heater stopped prematurely; I'm still cold. Dried glue on my fingers, left over from making homemade Christmas presents earlier tonight. All of my heavy thoughts have left my brain and have crept into my shoulders. Bluish glow from the Y parking lot across the street. Appealing projects are scattered around me, and I don't know which to begin. Melt Banana t-shirt. I am perfectly alone; rarely do they come together, or at all. Dim lighting. I wish it weren't so late. Dry white face mask.