I'm sitting on the front porch after a
long day working, and then going to a film and video editing place
with Heather to look at her film that she shot last weekend on the
first weekend of shooting her movie. I all looked great. It's all
very exciting. I could almost forget my own obsessions for awhile.
But now I'm back here sitting on the
porch, writing in my notebook. Why? For one thing, because it just
won't do to sit in my apartment and write in a notebook—I don't
know why—maybe because the other writing tools are in the
apartment—the computer, the typewriters. Also, there's a certain
exhilaration to being out in public—even if it is just on the
porch. For me, that's the way it's always been. I can write in bars,
and coffee shops, diners and restaurants, laundromats and train
stations—better than at home. But then also there's this other
reason, which I've bean avoiding, and that's the terrible beating my
heart's been taking ever since I feel in love with the girl who works
at the bar, The Hurst, across the street. I say girl rather than
woman, I don't know why. Because I feel like I'm in fourth grade. But
I say I'm in love rather than I have a crush because I'm very
serious, and it's no little thing. I think you can say you're in love
with someone even if you don't tell them, and even if they're not in
love with you. I think you can say that. I don't know what the rules
are, but I know there aren't any rules.
It's a long story and it was easier
saying I was in Portland, Maine because there wasn't any background.
Now it's like I'm a complete new person. But I'm still a character.
Plus, I'm kind of of afraid to talk about this stuff because it might
ruin my chances ever of... Whatever—what is it that I want, anyway?
I don't know. I'll just use first names, and of course this
disclaimer (this is a work of fiction, etc.) and any lawyers who
approach me had better do it with a pay-check and nothing like a
subpoena, or you might find yourself flying (lawyers!).
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