first thing this morning my friend's list gave me the news hunter s. thompson shot himself. i couldn't say it surprised me; his death was like a friend's a few years ago. moths burn out on bright lights; they do not die of heart attacks or in the sleep of their late years. i gradually wrote dr. gonzo on my hand over the course of the morning (i told dan not to laugh at me, and i don't think he knew that was why). i bought two books. i heard a brief piece of a speech from the seventies. his ____ means something to me. it makes me feel like i have something to do.

the first time i was able to escape the front end for a few brief moments of sanctuary, i saw the part of tommy boy where he finally gets it right and sells the box without the guarantee printed on it to the tough businessman in the blue factory suit. and then i went back to the machine. or was that the second and the first was . .

it was crowded with pizza and salt and vinegar chips and onion rings, full of smells and people. my sales manager tried to drag me kicking and screaming off the floor and kept saying, "c'mon sara, go back to work! now!" over and over. it was like a very entertaining nightmare.

---
my dad rearranged his living room because i told him he had bad fung shui. he is burning all the bad things in his bedroom.

shit. i forgot the stone i threw in the fire that one night, the one that stayed in the fireplace.
---

this past week has been like the death of the writer. a shot to the head and not at all surprising.

my dad broke down, my brother went to jail. elise was troubled. we spent a few hours with mary, boxing up the trailer and deciding who should take what. i didn't go to school. i spent my time talking to my family [as i write this my grandmother calls] like i suddenly exist again. i celebrated nick's birthday and i think he did a little, too. we spent an evening at a weak sauce show with karina, elise, derek and random extras from clearwater. and.
well, and.
i kept looking around and walking away like i was looking for someone. it didn't happen too many times before i saw the plaid shirt and the sweaty round cheeks and he had hair, he didn't have hair before, i froze and walked back. nick asked me what was wrong and i couldn't say it could have been anyone i could have been mistaken it's dark, there's smoke, who the, why the fuck would he be here. but i couldn't sit on it, i tried to walk away again and met him face to face and i looked, to be sure. he looked and i saw him decide to forget he knew me.

.
all these things, all good and all bad. and i have been rambling out of order for an hour and a half, so i think i'll quit, though i could certainly go on for three times as much.