while sleepily listening to some xiu xiu, i came to the same conclusion i have reached on a whole sort of different occasions before. whatever it is i need, it will not be found listening to xiu xiu on my couch (and probably not in this damn town either, for that matter). funny though, at the time it always seems like such a magnificent way to spend my evening. i hope i don't have to settle for something unsatisfying due to fear or doubt or umm.. time, i guess, i hope that it comes as, you know, like one of those storybooks. then i went outside for a little while. it was slightly chilly tonight. i thought about, or, more accurately, constructed many vague ideas and situations in my head that would do themselves good to occur. then i laughed and laughed and laughed at their likelihood. i was going to go to the library and apply for a library card today, even though after looking at their catalog on the internet i found it to be severely lacking in many places, but i was tired after work and decided to sleep instead. i finished this book today called the time machine. i liked it, but it was really too short. fucking amazon hasn't even shipped my order which i ordered six days ago, bastards. i suppose their free super saver shipping must come at some inconvenience to me.. oh well. i'm hungry now. i'm going to go make some peanut butter sandwiches, on wheat bread, of course. and i think i will have a banana with them too if there are any left. or actually, maybe i'll put in a tv dinner. hmm, what an arduous choice i am left with to make but i'm going to put a couple huxley quotes here, two that i found to be particularly insightful, because after going through the doors of perception, nothing has been the same. "I remember what an old friend, dead these many years, told me about his mad wife. One day in the early stages of the disease, when she still had her lucid intervals he had gone to talk to her about their children. She listened for a time, then cut him short. How could he bear to waste his time on a couple of absent children, when all that really mattered, here and now, was the unspeakable beauty of the patterns he made, in this brown tweed jacket, every time he moved his arms? Alas, this Paradise of cleansed perception, of pure one-sided contemplation, was not to endure. The blissful intermissions became rarer, became briefer, until finally there were no more of them; there was only horror." "Most men and women lead lives at the worst so painful, at the best so monotonous, poor and limited that the urge to escape, the longing to transcend themselves if only for a few moments, is and has always been one of the principal appetites of the soul."