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Thursday April 06, 2000, 01:54

i'm eating triscuits and cheese, having only gulped down a cup of instant oatmeal before rushing off to catch the bus to take me to the bar downstairs from which an open mic was occuring where i was supposed to meet a girl with whom i'd only emailed until that point.

the triscuits and cheese leave me full, yet disgusting. i mean, it's one thirty (and why did i just spell that out) in the morning and i'm cramming myself full of fat and carbohydrates. does this seem like a bad idea or what?

and apple juice. I'm drinking apple juice as well.

i woke up last night at 11:30, asleep on the hardwood floor of my living room. peter gabriel's "passion," for the last temptation of christ, was still play out the speakers positioned next to my head. i woke up on the floor and thought to myself "i really need a couch."

i'd spent yesterday emailing simone after having blown off her last email from December and then finding it again after finding her web page after looking through my referal logs like the good little nerdling i am. i found her page again after these months and thought to myself "boy, i'm a real jerk" so i prompty responed to her email again and watched my computer for the next couple of hours hoping that she would remember me enough to email me back again because i really really hate having people think that i'm a jerk just because i'm a bit scatter-brained.

i mean there are plenty of people in this world who think i'm a jerk and who are actually pretty justified in thinking that. but there are plenty of other people who think i'm a jerk just because of what i like to call a "misunderstanding" but which in reality is, well, i guess it is me being a jerk. but only that once you see, and that single situation certainly can't be representative of who i am as a person, so i desperately hoped that she would email me back and not think that i was a jerk.

as things turned out, she didn't think i was a jerk and i spent the bulk of yesterday afternoon emailing her. over and over and over again. we even wrote a bit of a story in one of those exchanges. so a meeting? a blurring of that line between the safetly of words and the reality of actually seeing someone, being able to bonk them on the head when they're being silly or look at them to see what they're trying to say rather than resorting to :) and the like?

i walked into the room, and it wasn't as dark as i was expecting. it also wasn't as easy as i was hoping to find this person, and i ended up standing by the bar waiting for her to rescue me from the awkwardness. she eventually did with the "jesse? simone?" conversation that ensues when two people who have never actually met each other actually meet each other and can't believe that this is actually the person with whom they'd been seeing only through the represnatation of words on a screen.

fun facts. i sound like she'd expected i'd sound. the bump on her nose from where the frisbee (a wonderful pass, i've been told) smacked her in the face is no longer visible. the even was not awkard at all. (well, except for that part at the beginning where i had no idea where to go)

a fun evening all around, filled with some really shitty poetry to boot. i mean, did i really want to hear about this woman's kayaking trip? not in the slightest. it used some pretty words (like promentory) but other than that was pretty much a waste of the stage. for crying out loud, what was up with that granny dress this woman was wearing? kayak my butt. oh, and don't even get me started about the angry (irish? jewish?) boston yenta who got up on stage (in the finals no less) and started bitching and moaning about... well dear me. i don't even remember. it was that memorable. so you can't even get me started, because i have nowhere to begin.

and there was good poetry. about the paradise a woman found in trinidad. about an AIDS test. about the hoots and hollars of "titties" shouted out a car window. about numbers. about jesus and buddha running amok in a poem gone wrong.

i don't think i really understand poetry except to see it as more succint, melodic prose.

i'm drifting off to sleep now. my eyes are growing heavy. the image of a poem, dripping words down a page, drawing me towards a central answer to everything keeps slipping into my mind. running towards a common center. i'm not actually sure what it means. but it sure is pretty to watch.

and it was pretty to listen to as well.

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