2AM Traffic

Lua and I are chilling out on Andrea's bed, enjoying the silence of an empty apartment. I used the laundry facilities in my building for the first time today and aside from a small hesitancy on behalf of the washing machine to work properly, my clothes are clean. I decided to retire three shirts from my rotation. While waiting for my clothes to dry, I finished reading The Sound and the Fury. Now I'm going to look up some criticisms to find out exactly what the hell it's about. My guess is that it's sort of a cross between plot elements found in A Streetcar Named Desire and Chinatown set against the Gothic south that only Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor can emulate.

I had dinner with Rachael at the diner last night and we talked for a couple of hours, though we were both kind of tired. I tried explaining to her how I've felt about writing so far this year and I got bored of listening to myself. I really don't make a whole lot of sense. Better I should just write and keep my opinions about it to myself until they're actually worth a damn.

Rachael asked me how I was doing, and I told her I was happy. And I am, to tell the truth. Everything feels nice at the moment. No complaints, no real worries. I used to worry that I was the kind of thinker who would never appreciate happiness if he found it, but I've always been too willing to criticize myself for feeling as though I'm not getting a fair shake. The shake is fair. Ottawa is becoming a new sort of home, one that doesn't stand for the negative things it used to stand for. I'm no longer driving myself as crazy as I used to, or at least I'm being crazy about better things.

There has been a copy of The Tommyknockers by Stephen King sitting at the top of the lobby steps for the last week. Last night I picked it up and brought it inside and started reading it. I've only read one Stephen King book before, and it was under his Richard Bachman pseudonym, so why not?