I had such a fantastic Valentine’s Day with Matt. He came over Friday afternoon and hung out at my house for a while. My grandma loved him, it was hilarious. In the evening, we saw the Taken By Trees show at Union Hall (my mom couldn’t go because she was sick). It was absolutely beautiful. Her voice was like crystal wrapped in lace, fringed with her Swedish-accented words to the crowd between songs. When she sang “Watch the Waves” I thought I was going to pass out.
Saturday I went to Greenwich Letterpress and bought cute handmade cards for the family, and went up to Chelsea to find my mother a bouquet. I was turned off by all the dead flowers, so I found her this wonderful potted succulent with a beautiful flower.
While walking around one of the stores, I saw this adorable cactus that needed me to take him home. I named him Kenneth.
On Valentine’s Day, Matt and I went to Dao Palate and had a fantastic vegan meal and a bottle of wine. There were music and people and they were young and alive.
Today I went with Matt and a few of his friends to this amazing Indian buffet in Jackson Heights. It was an epic meal—this was lunch, and I wasn’t hungry again until midnight. On my way back to Manhattan, Yevgeny texted me that he was around so we met up for coffee in Times Sq and were going to watch a movie, but there was this odd discrepancy between the times that were listed online and the ones they had in the theater. So we went to Whole Foods instead and I did my weekly grocery shopping. I got some Lambic and this English beer I like. I need something to deal with my roommates, and I’ve decided that it will be fancy alcoholic beverages, at least for this week.
Tonight I’m supposed to be writing this essay for my critical writing class, but I’m not feeling terribly inspired, although I’m sure she will think it’s a tour de force. It’s due tomorrow though, I should get writing.
I know I’ve been saying this for years, but I need to force myself to write some fiction. I will write a Borges/Calvino-esque tidbit by Sunday, I have decided. I hate when I’m happy and have no desire to be creative. That hasn’t really happened yet, since I’ve been painting a lot despite my school responsibilities, but I need to write. I’m a writing major—I must get over this writers’ block.
Instead of writing stories, I think I’m going to write fake technical writing. Since that’s mostly what I do, I think it will have an eerie verisimilitude to it.