i keep pressing release when what i want is
to be strapped in tight. the suit is smashing
against the i'd call it a ceiling, causing much
noise and damage too no doubt.
sleep is not
available but neither really is action. semi-
concentration is almost achievable so i read
lydia davis and josephine miles and jaroslav
seifert aloud. these writers mean a lot to me,
so that if i have to be here i'll be happier read
ing them. i resisted auditioning for reality tv
for such a long time, telling myself it was point-
edly crap. but eventually i succumbed and got
the gig. who knew it would turn out like this?
somebody probably did know, and used us and
that's what really hurts.
my purple sweat-shirt is sitting
uncomfortably today, on the back of the chair,
one arm groping at the latch for increasing the
height. i try to reach it with my sandal but the
endeavour is a flop.
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