it's raining in my computer

it's raining in my Gmail account, but i still feel the sticky heat of bangkok, past midnight. the heat-glue sits covering the pores of my skin on my arms and legs, inviting grime to lodge and live and dine.

Sleep's been evasive.

wine-music-watching pepe run around with a paper towel cardboard end-roll tansfixes me. Sleep can wait.

i've come to a 360 degrees of sorts and am thinking about the place i was at this time last year, the people i was with, this time last year, the mornings i woke up to, this time last year, the meals i made and the lovers i nurtured and broke, this time last year.

it doesn't matter now. or maybe it matters more now.

i can't sleep.

i think of cold slippery chicago weekday nights when everything was possible. everything except sleep.

i think of Sleep coming to me on the floor of amy's apartment-- post wine and post christmas tree.

why am i talking about christmas trees in february?

in the heat of february.

there's no rain. the only rain my plants know of comes from a blue plastic can, with holes perforated with such neglect that each hole almost merges with the other and water pours out as though through a normal cup. no light showers. just heavy pours. and the chillies are dry. the cilantro's given up. the tomato was happy but now it's browning over. the only thing that keeps growing is anthony's plant, the plant i never knew would flower. like real "propah" flowers.

there's no rain.

and there won't be any.

except for in my Gmail account.

but no bushfires for me.

just sticky nights with prospects of long-legged Sirens that helplessly leave love bumps.

i will circle each one of them with a blue ball point pen.

i still can't sleep.