#toomanyclothesonthebed

i drive to pasadena to drop off my old bass for my cousin. my aunt shows me her recently acquired street art collection from Cuba. she wandered the streets of Havana wondering what she could afford. she came back with several reproductions, one of which is a portrait of a man with a banana floating over his head. i giggle. i pick my mom up for coffee, just blocks away. on my way home i drive down fair oaks past the liquor store where my parents used to buy booze when they were in high school. that liquor store is probably the reason that i exist. it’s nice to have roots somewhere. i feel i’m on terms with los angeles as one would be with a family member with whom she occasionally gets into some bullshit. loving, long-suffering, but practical, and sometimes distant.

 i should be packing my clothes. there’s clothes on my floor, clothes on my bed, some clothes made it, folded, into a suitcase opened up against my wall. i can’t decide on anything. can’t i just buy clothes when i get to any city? i know this is not financially sound, especially right now. i’ve been packing my suitcase for almost a week. you would think i’m writing a term paper or something. my suitcase might as well have a syllabus, an outline. but it’s not done yet, by any means. i couldn’t turn it in for the scrutiny of grading. but by tomorrow i will be cramming. i used to do this in school. the student pharmacy was liberal with benzodiazepines (and everything). after turning in all my finals and taking all my exams, i would pop a valium and head back to my dorm to pack my stuff. it was a quarterly ritual. i would fold up my clothes into nebulous shapes for hours and have the best time of my life. 

i wish it was like that now. 

mostly i’ve just annoyed myself with putting too many clothes on the bed. how many black t-shirts can i wear in one month anyway? no one can answer that question. i take things out of my suitcase, eye them disdainfully, toss them back in my closet, and start over again. i hate the idea of not liking what i’m wearing for a month, but reconcile myself at least partially to it. i delicately wrap a stack of comic books in a blanket emblazoned with wolves. the wolf blanket, ambien and fur coat fairy visited her gifts upon me tonight. i am besieged with earthly blessings. still not completely confident with my packing situation, and leaving at 9 in the morning. almost everything, and almost nothing, is in its perfect place. i’ve affixed an audacious bow to my car keys, i’ve donated a half-destroyed bottle of wine to the community bar cart. exhaustion and inertia are creeping, but inertia won’t last. i’m listening to Indochine. Punishment Park is such a good song.