endless summer was one of the most beautiful albums i ever listened to

It is such a dreary day. I realized a couple of things: routine helps keep lies alive, but is not a cause or to be blamed. It simply makes it easier to live a lie by living in a routine. And I want to say a lot of things. Or I assume that I want to say a lot. But that, I don't think, is true. In reality, I would wish there was a lot to say, to make things interesting. But most everything is boring. Well, lots of things, but then I get thinking and lots of things are great. So I don't know what to do with that. Just reading this play, 'The Birthday Party,' made me feel that routine really does make living all sorts of lies possible. It never is easy I guess. Makes me sigh, nothing is easy. What shit.

Other than that, I've been reading, wrote. I ate a salmon fillet with my last half rotten potato. It was one of the most meager meals I have ever eaten. I don't even know what is wrong with me. Why don't I just walk down to the supermarket and buy some more vegetables and cook a proper meal. I just don't care I think. The hunger is something, its not boring. It passes time.

There is a slip of paper in our kitchen. It remarks that our kitchen isn't cleaned as well as it should be. There is a checklist in Norwegian with lots of marks, and there seem to be threatening words. I am not entirely sure. We have residents that run each tower apparently, and we are all supposed to have met them. But I never did, and don't want to. I threw away their invitation. I smiled when I did. Now they are going to come back in the future and judge our kitchen for a second time. If we fail, they are apt to do something. That is the gist of what I can pick up with my small knowledge of things.

I've read Pinter's 'The Birthday Party'. I like it more as I think about it. Less so while I read it. But because as I read it I wanted all the connections and themes, and plot lines all at once. Like eating a meal in one bite. I didn't want to wait. So when I finished, I was able to examine the entire text as one thing knowing it from beginning to end. And then I enjoyed it a lot more. The same happened with 'Mrs. Dalloway'. Which, I actually really enjoyed all the parts with Septimus. I thought he was a great character. The end, right before he kills himself, he exclaims how remarkably hot the day is today as he sits on the window ledge. I was reading that and felt the sun across my body and thought about the great amount of warmth. Blinding light, throbbing, the heat wracking my body and then simply dying and being what I really am, nothing. What everyone is, nothing. I thought it was such a pleasant way to die, in such brilliant sunshine, warm all over on a summer's day.

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future days of summer