mmmarilyn;

a big-city fairy tale.

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{a photo project, 2006}

sunday, october 1, 2006.

6.09am; haven't slept yet

my cute and tiny room here in the haunted old hotel

I'm going to turn 26 this month, which seems more retarded than I could have imagined.

I saw Sufjan Stevens last night and it was like a dream (in part because I had been up all night the night before and so the songs were intertwined with the minidreams you have when you take a nap while your eyes blink), and got to see the smashing and delightful Mamie Parris perform in Bush Wars tonight, and I wish I could live here and have a million times more free time than I do. I'm sure that most people who live in NY feel that way, sheesh, most people would love more free time of course, but a million amazingly talented people trying to capture your attention every day really drives it home.

The worst thing about my almost-but-not-quite a month stint of self-enforced sobriety is how much it has made me feel like an alcoholic. One bad day a few months ago and I was glaring at a guy because he was drinking a beer and I couldn't; my accidental return to gin and tonics when the bartender must have assumed that couldn't have really requested just a tonic with a twist made me dizzy with anticipatory glee at the first sip; I just opened an Octoberfest from the Brooklyn Brewery (delivered to my door, along with a slew of other delicious groceries by FreshDirect) and the psst of the cap peeling off made me tingle. And then worry a little at how much pleasure the bitter slide down my throat gave.

I don't like ever having to second guess my own pleasure.

It's common these days: I should always be studying instead, getting some much needed sleep instead, meeting people instead of sitting in my bed with my darling sweet zelda (another addiction I'm not going to get into right now).

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