Rivers We Can't Cross

Got new tires put on my mom's car this morning. Rudely awoken by my father at 6:30, fell asleep, rudely re-awoken half and hour later. Spent two and a half hours waiting at the tire place for them to finish. Hell smells like rubber - I know from experience. Chilled on Telegraph with Zak and his summer school friend Jessica. I like meeting new people. Met up with with Coty and Perry there. They act like junkies. Smoke a lot of cigs. I don't like it when Perry smokes around me. Well, I don't like it in general, but especially not around me. Sat on the corner outside Amoeba with him for awhile as people passed by wondering if we had smokes. He did, but I guess they're hard to get ahold of when you look like a teddy bear. Zak dealt various grunts and words in my direction, obviously uncomfortable with the "squatting" situation. Perceptiveness aside, I picked up on it. After about the tenth "Well okay" on his part, we left, one record and two cd's richer. "Gish" on vinyl for him, a Louise Attaque and Elastica album for me. Dinner came soon - 6 o'clock - new neighbors came over for tri-tip and refreshingly organic fruit salad. Supposed to chizill with Hizelen tonight, but to no avail - I bailed on her for Chinatown Wednesday, she bailed on me tonight. Hopefully we're even as I'm not too good at catch. Spent the night playing bass and guitar (both electric and acoustic), contemplating the drawings that found me on the bottom of the pool table, and watching design shows on TV, my favorite way to be lazy and get good design ideas at the same time. I feel distance between me and old friends now, even between new friends. But one is silver and the other gold, so time will heal. Fame is on its way - I can feel it. Church tomorrow, singing with Dad, Katie, Mel, Katie P, and Bishop. Becky on piano. Should be nice. I hate sentimentalities like saying goodbye. So I won't. Left-hand fingers callousing from playing bass already, shouldn't be long until it doesn't hurt anymore. Lost my book "Road Fever." Started reading Camus' "The Rebel" only to realize it's a 300+ page essay about rebellion. Interesting for the first 14 pages, but dulled quickly. But I read it at the tire store, so maybe it was the rubbery fumes of hell clouding my thoughts. Tom comes home Thursday. Heartbreak ends never, even though it's been a few weeks. I need to give him his CD back, but I'm scared because I know all the therapy will go to waste and I'll break down anyway, whether in his presence or elsewhere. Stream-of-consciousness junkie.