What sucks about keeping two journals going (this one and LJ) is that I can never seem to find the time to update both, especially with the lack of my own internet access. Right now I'm "borrowing" (read "Pilfering" access from a local coffee shop's Wifi. They are closed right now, which sucks for them, otherwise they would have my business and I would be doing this on a more ethical basis, but I figure if they weren't alright with people doing this they would shut down thier Wifi at closing time. Or make it a "for-pay" service unless you have an access code they would provide once a customer ordered something. Neither would be that hard to do. There are places around the country that usually do one of those two things. Usually hotels.
Another thing that sucks about not having internet access is that when I do decide to update my journals, I never have anything pre-written or even slightly planned out (like most of my life, if you want to know the truth of it, but we won't really get into that right now). That's one of the reasons that these entries seem disjointed at best, lessions in choas at worst. Usually I just type whatever comes to mind, making slight adjustments for phrasing purposes. That last sentence is a damn good example of the problems with this sort of writing. Everything is brainstorm style writing with no edits for grammatical correctness and very few edits for spelling or typos.
It occurs to me that my spelling has become really terrible over the last decade or so. I could have sworn that I was better at it then this, but I supoose that's what editors are for, after all. I, however, have no one to edit myself except for myself, and that's always a bad idea. (I won't catch everything, after all)
I would apologize for all of this, but the real reason I write is for exercise rather then for anyone to read. In fact, despite I-Am-Jacks little note, I still have a hard time believing anyone reads this stuff, or would have any want to.
For those of you unfamiliar with the Backdoor coffee house (which is still the funniest name for a coffee shop I've ever heard), a.k.a. Deli on the Labyrinth, a.k.a. "Jeep-on-a-stick". The parking lot for the shop is actually sort of catty-corner from the shop itself, actually being behind another building altogether. That building is, in fact, a Dunkin' doughnuts.
This particular Dunkin' Doughnuts I frequented often in the Spring of 2001. There were a lot of really terrific storms that year, and I was working at the Cortyard by Marriot hotel on I-40 and Meridian, behind Celibration Station (which would mean nothing to those of you who do not live in OKC, which at this point, should be all of you). Jen had decided to leave her mother's house for reasons best not discussed, and was staying with me at my folks place (which was a really bad idea, but it was supposed to be very temporary). At any rate, these storms would knock out the power in most of the city, and I would often have to come home early, because I couldn't perform any of my duties without power, and the backups only worked on the computer system and a few "emergency lights". One of those nights Jen decided that she wanted doghnuts, and so we drove all around the city looking for one that still had power to it. So we came to this one. This rash of power-outage causing storms would continue often into the summer, and every time, this particular Dunkin' Doughnuts would be the only place with power, so we came here quite a bit. Those were some of the fondest memories of being with Jen, even though I put on a lot of weight. Still, every time this happened, we would have doughnuts and milk and then go home and have fairly amazing sex.
The moral of this story is that while poetry will almost never actually get you laid, doughnuts almost always will.
I tried, for a time, to write poems about this particular time in my life, but they always turned out badly, as did most of the poetry I wrote about Jen, Genesis being the only exception.
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Memory is a very fickle thing
I cannot always remember
Your face or your smile
But I can still
With crystaline clarity
Remember the way you smelled
The way you tasted
And the way you felt
Although I wonder if perhaps these memories
Haven't become idealized
As so many things have
Descriptions fitting mythical beings rather then people
But then I always did think of you
As somewhat anthropomorphic
When I think of your characteristics
Words like Lioness and Kitten-like
Always come to mind
Perhaps I am more sick then I thought
~M
