the works

it's been an infinite week. until an hour and a half ago, of course. that's when saturday ended and sunday began. another fourth of the seventh gone by; i've been working much of this week--a good thing, in terms--and was tending to dishes or something when the boston fireworks show began and ended. i had purposely not hyped myself up for it, because i was positive i'd miss it.

i can't seem to sleep before 1, even 2 anymore. 12.30 at the latest, really. so im up now. clock says 1.42. i left work two hours ago. i left attleboro 11h15m ago. or so. last i'll see of the parents til december. work is looking up, hours-wise. haven't done anything else with my brain, of late. just started my steinbeck novel. it's been lying around for the past days. that's what i do too, when i've been home. "home". lying around. napping, playing a tune or two--my guitar is finally here, but i guess i've become more acustomed to the steel-stringed--the nylon feels two soft and i can't tune it as easily.

life is changing. it feels like somethings slipping--many somethings, much slipping, and i'll only get it when i run into something that i hang onto or something. things are going by quite quickly. i suppose i oughtta start thinking about my return to houghton. it's strange even to consider. it feels like i've already left that place behind, but i've still got a good while before that happens.

thoughts end there. i need more sleep for a more consistent, patterned, non-clumsy ... anything ... to come out. of my fingers.