Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

come to seattle

Having no food in the house, and because my cruel neighbors made scent-wafting tacos the other day, I went to Taco Bell. Inside, ethereal music was playing, lulling everyone into a peaceable mood. The lady ahead of me slowly read out loud what I think was a Krishna quote about spiritual oneness, which had been scribbled on the tip cup. The cashier nodded along with the indulgence of an enlightened soul. Or maybe he was just tired. I tried to work up a sense of outrage, but the friction of my impatience was merely as crickets chirping, thwarted by the music, which washed waves of calm over me. Time slowed and I waited and paid for my tacos in a mild stupor. I asked what the music was, and was told it was The Essence, by Deva Premal. Must buy this. Feel mellow.

Watched Alien Hunter on SciFi tonight. Meh. James Spader is aging. Not that I mind, but it's interesting that at one point he and Michael Shanks had a kind of Daniel likeness going on, enough so that if you squinted, you might be a bit unsure who was who, and now they've diverged mightily.

I think I'm finally going to watch the episode of Nip/Tuck that I taped. I don't want to go to bed, don't want the weekend to end. I can't believe I wasted another one. I dread more than ever the thought of getting hit by a bus. I feel like I'm dragging weeks and weeks of dead life behind me like a snake skin I can't slough off.

I lit candles today for money, creative juice, and energy. So far they don't seem to be working.

My fingers smell of tacos.
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