Little Black Dot

i was a dumb cat and drank a double americano at eight o'clock. now i'm going to be up until three am and i just want to go to sleep. i keep checking the time at eight twelve. 20:12 on my 24 hour clock. is that a coincedence? i don't think so. that's when i drank the americano. at 20:12.
also, i'm starving hungry. i want to eat an entire pizza. with animals on it.
today is the new moon, if i'm not mistaken, so i only have one thing to say.
bleed, already. this is absurd.
in other news, i did a lot of things today.
i read and knitted and got so high and discovered a new drawing medium and went to the post office and made a delicious salad and watched two films and found a really funny old roll of photographs and showered and did a load of laundry found what i was looking for and meditated and sat at the cafe and did work and made my bed. i've spoken maybe seven sentences all day.
i like holidays, when they are like this. when i am quiet and productive. easy inside my skin.
last night, a strange dream.
there was a beach, a house, two women in bathing suits with cigarettes. a storm cloud, three pairs of leopard print reading glasses. my father, smoking with no shirt on, and after, in the house, casting a rope around, securing furniture before the rain. and when he finished, clear skies. irony. i waded into the bay and coming out, i found her there, lounging on a towel. then there was a bridge. she put her hand
there
and then retreated it, split in half and ran to both shores at once.
you can never have everything, she said.
life is always hard.
then, later, i crossed the bow river in a pair of snowshoes
and found a secret city. steep cobblestone laneways. rotary phones.
the smell of coal burning. smoke stacks. freight trains
going and coming, again and again.