I just had Chinese at a restaurant near my house. There were three men seated at the tables, all looking somewhat tired. One of the men seemed surprised to see me there. Perhaps it’s an oasis for tired men, but not tired women. I throw my jacket on the chair, order egg and stir-fried eggs with wood ear mushroom. Wait was I on a diet? Yes I was.
I bought a lip gloss, a toner, and a toothpaste at a drugstore, thinking I might take better care of myself if I did. I think I picked the wrong color. When I wore it later, it looked like I was trying to look young, which I’m not.
“Okay, I’m going to look sexy today,” I say to myself, sitting in front of the mirror and layering on makeup. I’m far from precise, don’t really know how to do it, but I manage to make myself feel a little more confident, even if no one cares. I sometimes watch video clips of women talking about beauty, but I get bored quickly. Is that all you’re going to talk about? Forever? Looking nice, taking care of your skin and nails? Even at seventy?
I’m still reading John Updike, but I’m not that impressed. “That’s what I thought was on men’s minds.” Nothing so revealing. The same thing happened when I read Salinger, not very revealing for me. Same with Bataille. I’m sure it was written to shock us, but it didn’t. I felt something pure and innocent, but the story didn’t pull me in.
I’m still in touch with the Artist, but I’m beginning to think maybe I shouldn’t be. I saw his recent paintings and felt nothing. Perhaps it’s the soil, he’s in the wrong place. But then again, it’s not my job to help anyone. I should be careful, because most people do not want to be saved. To save yourself, you must change the way you think, which can be difficult. It’s easier to wait for someone to accepted you, and attack anyone that criticize you. But change is the definition of time, and without it, life inevitably becomes intolerably tedious.
I recently feel like doing water color painting. But I do not know why. And if I don't know why, usually it's a good idea.

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