I'm back at the library. Of course since it is the only place that I access the Internet and I'm adding to my blog where else would I be? Listening to Joy Division and I'm still anxious and depressed about stuff that I get anxious and depressed about.
I started reading The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion last night. I really like her style. I didn't think it would be a good choice for me right now but somehow it is. The title of this post is a quote of a quote Merck Manual via Didion. I think I'm going to stop reading the Edmund White Autobiography. It's just so sleazy and sad - it kind of reminds me of some of my not too stellar fuck sessions but I just have to remember that I had some spectacular fuck sessions, too.
Should I contact M? I really want to but then I don't what to be "Here I am!" and then go all crazy and disappear again. This all assumes that she would want to be in contact with me. I think I should still wait for my own computer, apt., SSDI resolved and therapy. I'm such a hot mess.
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