there's something about the laundromat that makes me wonder about the numeric assignment of time, why we don't go through the day indicating time by words representing degrees of light. it's not that they don't exist, it's just that there aren't enough of them to go around an entire clock face. at the laundromat (68 min.) it also occurs to me that what little intellect i have is due almost entirely to public downtime -- time on the bus, time at the dentist, time between classes, time waiting for clothes to dry. this is when i read (age 9,10), this is when i scribbled nonsensical notes to myself (age 12-16) that i was sure would somehow organize themselves into 'poetry'. at home i almost always flopped onto my bed, shirking downtime duties, no longer public so not interested at all in my downtime, and stared at the ceiling (hours), thinking mostly nothing but staring and waiting for sunset.

kinkos is now a gas station. it does not, however, sell petrol, as one might expect of a gas station. no, it sells the ability to fax things and copy papers when your department's copying machine is on the skitz. nevertheless, it is a gas station. when i walked into the kinkos today it asked me to insert card for service. i looked for the pump.

oy and ok. 'nough.

who's got the time these days, anyway?