New roommate hunt continues.

I have definitely three, and possibly four different women coming over to see my apartment today in order to decide if they'd like to live here. This is after seeing three people yesterday who all kind of sucked (too young, not interesting, didn't seem like they'd be able to pay the rent on time...all sorts of issues!), and then three other people last week. Since I only have about 5 days left to get someone to agree to move in here, I'm kind of scared, but this newest batch of people seems really good. All are around my age, in grad school or have been in grad school, and are friendly and whatnot over email. One is even a vegetarian, hey! Maybe I won't have to move out in semi-disgrace on July 31st to become a beach bum after all.

Also, my eye still looks a little funny, but not overwhelmingly so. I managed to go back to work like people do last week, and while not working for two weeks has me kind of freaked out, as long as I don't have to move I definitely have enough of a cash buffer to get me through August safe and serene. In a weird way, even though things are going kind of badly, I feel mostly awesome on a day to day basis. I'm even slowly cleaning and organizing my room in a logical manner. Insanity!

I will miss the goofy and sweet presence of my current roommate in this place, though. Even if she did put too much importance on the cleaning or non-cleaning of dishes.

Men I love.

An incomplete list.

Conan!, Devendra, Albert Camus, one W. Benjamin, one Jon Stewart, my advisor, oh god my old advisor in undergrad, F.Pritchard, Fred Neil, of course George, Ira Glass, the young Ginsberg, James Dean, Paul Newman, mister P. Drew, Brad Neely, mssrs. Bret and Jemaine, Steve Carrell, Zach Galifinakis (whose name I can spell and say correctly), Michael Ian Black, Pessoa, dear sad d.a. levy, Robert De Niro even though he frequently makes a mockery of my love, Richard Lawson, Alex Balk, Choire Sicha, and a host of other internet personalities such as Rain Noe, but wait there's more, Frank O'Hara, Groucho Marx, Jean Cocteau, some weird idea I have of french male intellectuals in general, Michel Foucault, Kevin Barnes, the man who is June Panic, Lou Barlow (even though he used to write dumb songs about getting stoned), Michael Caine, John Oliver, Arthur Lee, John Fante in regards to that one book of course, Chris Onstad except for a few key moments, and many many more.

Men I don't love even though maybe I should: Bukowski, Morrissey (except sometimes), Paul McCartney, well maybe I do still love Robert Plant.

I was just sort of overcome, while sitting to my morning coffee, with the fact that there are and have been many great dudes out there, and they have made my life a much happier life than it would have been else-wise.

On the other side of the road.

So, on Wednesday I wore a silly gown and funny booties and then some medicines dripped into my blood stream til I fell asleep. While I slept, a few doctors watched and a few participated in sewing a plastic band to the outside of my eyeball, in a place where I can't see it. Then I woke up and shook around and complained like a baby until my body felt right again, and I was allowed to go home.

Now I am in that home, wearing sunglasses indoors, which I will have to do for a few weeks. At some point in the next few weeks my current roommate will presumably move out, and a new one will hopefully move in. My eye, which is now red and angry, will slowly return to its normal state. In the meantime, I will try to grow comfortable with my shadowy vision.