Apartment hunting is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get. I am faced with a choice: a nice, new, spotless, yuppy apartment with an incredible view in beautifully sterile Pacific Heights, or one that’s a little shabbier, a lot funkier and with a genuine really really cool vibe down on Duboce Park. Two sides of my personality clashing, right there! I’m being presumptious in both cases, of course, because it isn’t guaranteed that I’ll get either.
I was sitting at the coffeeshop on the corner (Muddy Waters or something like that) earlier today sipping good mocha and reading Burroughs’ Naked Lunch, and that song from the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack, Stuck in the Middle with You, came on. I was going over a really funny part in the book at the moment and the combination of it all—good music, good book, good coffee—suddenly made me realize how happy I was that very second. The feeling stayed with me all day; I got a natural buzz out of it. I guess that’s what they call being “high on life”—I could feel my head spinning and my brain flooding with endorphines. Anyway, what’s the point of all this?.. Oh, fuck, there is no point; it just feels so good to feel good and you can laugh all you want at the tautology here but it’s true and I know it’s true and deep down inside you know it, too. Everything is right with this universe as long as we believe it (reality takes place in our minds anyhow). Is that my Chinese food exploding in the microwave?