I have my apartment. Some kind of switch turned over in my brain, after I took the keys. I found myself thinking, seriously thinking, of inviting people around to display my breakfast nook. Let's be clear: I'm not even sure I have a breakfast nook. Even if I do (and I won't be pinned down, here), I can't think of any reason it would be different to any other breakfast nook in any other house. Nonetheless, something in my brain is strongly suggesting that other people need to see it, and other parts of my house. Like an itch. Waiting to be scratched. Come see my shower curtains. For reasons I can't fully explain even to myself.
Still, irrational house-pride aside, it's nice to be out by myself. I feel a certain satisfaction while playing nude video games that has nothing to do with the sensuous corduroy beanbag fabric.
To reward myself for doing something I wanted to do (hooray for karma), I bought myself a CD. It is my first hip-hop CD in about ten years. I used to love hip-hop, but then Run DMC went strange and Public Enemy went completely fucking insane. Did you know they think the World Health Organization is using AIDS to decimate Africans? As if a conspiracy were needed; apathy and Bob Geldof should do the trick without a lot of fussing over test-tubes.
Anyway. Lyrics Born has a whole lot of seventies style funk action going on. Thnakfully, I now have a swingin' bachelor pad where I can turn it up loud, the bass down low, and have a funked up house party of one. Oh, yeah.