In the spirit of my friends here (and also recent events) I've been trying to get my act together. A day planner has been purchased and events written into it. I've been virtously doing laundry, folding my clothes and putting them away instead of leaving them in a pile and even doing dishes.

I kinda want to be responsible, that is, I want to know where things are when I put them down and not suddenly remember obligations at the last minute. It's a nerve-wracking way to live- I make myself crazy, I make other people crazy. I already find, writing things down in the planner, that I feel less anxious about my time. I know what's going to happen. It's written down, look.

I rubbed ginger on my head two nights ago, and cinnamon on my head last night. They're supposed to bring the blood to the surface of my scalp, and maybe make the hair grow back. Every time I look at the bald spots I am reminded that I am still adrift. That I am still in at least some ways at the mercy of my anxieties.

I talked with Hill this week about this and that. He told me how tired he was of living like a vagrant- he hasn't had a bedroom for the past five months. His current digs are in a squat, and while he's not paying rent the ceiling has taken to crumbling on his bed in the middle of the night. Before that he was working in the cornfields in Texas, and sleeping in a barn at night. I can only empathize. I haven't had a single living space of my own all year. I cannot wait (my reservations about living with Hill aside) to move this last time. My own bedroom..god. I haven't had one since moving out of my parents place last November.

I have a whole laundry list of the things I would like this studio to be. But I think more than anything else I want it to be my own.