The other day

Found out what happened to Amalia. Then, briefly looked at a novel about Chinese prostitution in San Francisco. Went home, ate yogurt, and somehow cut two of my fingers without noticing (maybe it was the metal peel-off lid). Bandaged them. Went back and looked at A Writer's Reality, which is by the author of "Amalia." I liked some of it but I wasn't so crazy about parts about striptease and also some accounts of a brothel. I felt rather disturbed; as if some people just relate to things in a rather cold, intellectual way, and I let myself be bothered by that. I was thinking, I can't let that bother me so much. As I was washing my hands in the bathroom, someone opened a door that said "Out of Order." She said "Did you see this?" and I didn't want to go over because I could make out some stains on the walls but she pointed with her yardstick expectantly. Red smudges and lines (in rather neat, stacked rows, reminiscent of I-Ching symbols) were all over the stall. "Oh my god," she kept saying. On my way out, there was a notice on the bulletin board that leapt out at me, about helping children. I could feel the cynical how do they know if they're really helping them thoughts I didn't want to feel, and I tried to look at an art brochure, but people were talking about a "crazy lady" and loudly (over the whir of a cleaning machine) "she killed herself!" I thought, "no, she didn't, she just tried to but she got some help..." Then the yardstick wielder sang out, "we're closing now!" So then I left again. Eesh.