an exercise in restraint. that’s what i’ll call it. that’s what it is? always hiding and pushing and re-organizing but it’s time to leave them at the top. stop hiding the things, start controlling the urge. stop saying ‘it’s sad’. stop treating it with false import.
so much to say. forgot it all. the little wastebasket. some sort of rattan pattern on it, totally fake. it’s made of that plastic that shatters as soon as you drop it from far enough or put too much pressure on it. it shattering reminds me of a hot driveway for some reason. hot pavement and kids toys. the plug behind it — what does it run to? another white noise machine probably. the little dot on the floorboard next to it that looks like an old doorbell button. i think about pushing it in every time i sit on this couch. the little kleenex box. the glass table. the legs of the table aren’t legs. a continuous structure of ’N’ shapes. circular. the glass platter just rests on it. the glass is smoky on the edge. thick. it must weigh sixty pounds. reminds me of candy.
saul almost cried when i told him about the end of the phone call. i only know this because he told me this. he said it made him well up. said it was sad. sad for everyone. saul almost cried. my family makes my therapist want to cry.
high volume, low frequency noise keeps sounding in the library. half of the room is looking at each other: should we…? the other half is unconcerned. distracted. trying to ignore it. i go to the help desk. do you hear that? he says yeah, i hear it. turns back to his computer. stares at it. is that normal? i don’t know, might be the elevator he says. i want to say thanks a lot, dickhead but i don’t. i want to tap the bottom of his chin with two fingers using just enough force that it’s offensive. but i don’t. i go back to my computer and write this instead.