why i’m not doing much writing

1.  the loud jingly music from the ice-cream cart that goes by my apartment every day is just too damn distracting.

2.  television is rotting my brain.  wanda sykes says “you can’t blame the blind man for crashing the car when you’re the one who gave him the keys.”  craig ferguson thinks that all this celebrity inbreeding is going to create a brand new race of supercelebrities.  i like scenes from a hat.  tv funny.

3.  my life is really, really boring.  i’m boring.  i’m so boring even the dog thinks i’m boring.

4.  all day i make jewelry and sew and sew and sew, and nobody wants to hear about how i added darts to some pants to make them fit, or that i’m running out of black thread but i still have tons of yellow, or that i somehow managed to acquire a whole lot of bias tape even though i don’t really know what it’s for.

5.  i came to this passage in the great gatsby the other day:

“If it wasnít for the mist we could see your home across the bay,” said Gatsby.  “You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.”

Daisy put her arm though his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said.  Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever.  Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her.  It had seemed as close as a star to the moon.  Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.

my enchanted objects, i’ve decided, are the things i have that came from people i don’t see anymore.  phil’s bookcase and coffee table, folded and stacked under my bed.  marisa’s coin jar.  the green post-it pad on which yanda drew a picture of a person in profile.  the books that d loaned me, which i never read.  they’ve all acquired special significance based on their previous owners.  i can’t bring myself to get rid of these things, but i can’t think about them either.  it makes me too sad.

anyhow, i was going to write about that.

6.  when i’m on the computer, my time is spent looking for jobs i’m not going to get, browsing ebay for things i’m not going to buy, and feeling guilty about not emailing people back.  how can i possibly fit any writing in with all that other stuff i’m doing?