"that's pretty good for a drunk guy. for a bleeding drunk guy."

today i cleaned my room (you can see the floor now) and listened to the supremes and the shirelles. then i went by megan's coffee shop and finished editing a cover letter for one of the jobs i want to apply for and sent it in. when i pressed "submit" i said, "megan i applied for a job!" and she said "do you want a cookie?" and then: "um, no really, i'm bringing some cookies home."

i'm going to keep applying and hope that i actually get a response that isn't computer generated and doesn't say "**please do not reply to this message**." there are cute university presses and entry-level associate programs that give me hope.

now, aaron and megan are arguing about something stupid. aaron is saying things like "okay, then what's a 'rash'?" and "they eat dirt. two ounces of dirt. yes." and there's a show about poison dart frogs on tv.

last night me and chris helped patrick make felt finger puppets for his preschoolers. i love glue guns. i made strega nona, who is an italian grandmother with a magic pasta pot. then we went to the bar to play darts. there was actually a dude at the dart board, which is unusual. he had blood all over his hand and his shirt, and he was sort of talking to himself. me and chris ended up talking with him about different dart games and rules, and over the course of the conversation, chris told him he was bleeding. i guess it was because he was drunkenly? violently? fidgeting with his earring. anyway, after me and chris finished playing darts (i lost by one bullseye, fucker), the guy started taking practice throws. he was doing pretty well, and he said to himself, or us, "that's pretty good for a drunk guy. for a bleeding drunk guy."

oh. and this is important: i decided to move back to new york. i'm leaving at the end of august. i'll be living with my parents for a while, which will be an adventure. but all in all, i'm excited about the move. i miss new york, and pretty much every publishing house ever is there.