Coffee and cigarettes :

I wish I felt something more fervently than I do now, something that screamed and commanded to be given words, demanded to be exhaled out my lungs and mouth. But I don't really have anything much to say, nothing too important at least.

There is a man sitting to my left, a drifter that seems familiar, though I am not quite sure how. He is reading a shitty newspaper article within a local LA magazine-esque thing, is wearing a felt black hat, smells horrific, but has an equally creepy, yet simultaneously disarming smile. There is something about him, a vague haze about him that has you in a trance for but a moment until you realize that if you look too long at him, he will come to you and haphazardly caress your face. This is not yet an exaggeration, I witnessed this instance a moment ago. Now he is close to my iPhone.

An man in his mid-forties is with him - at least, sitting next to him - and earlier, he asked me to use my computer to watch his Indian TV show. I said no, he insisted. I repeat: I said no, he insisted. We repeat.

I have twenty or more books stacked upon my shelves that I haven't yet read, yet I continue purchasing new ones. Come on, Natalie, read the damn things, they're only pages, right?

It hit me, I'm transferring. I am to transfer sooner than later, within the next year. I will be somewhere else, somewhere different, somewhere new, hopefully. And I can't wait? I can wait, for now, for only a bit longer.

I want to take American sign language or French or something. I don't yet know, I want to learn how to pronounce things in French, I want to learn how to make shapes in ASL. We'll see.

My coffee is cold. My paper has yet to be written. I'm going to Santa Barbara for the day tomorrow. My coffee is cold. My paper is not written. I am going to Santa Barbara for the day tomorrow.

My coffee is colder now than it was before.