Swollen vocal chords & the journals of Kurt Cobain

At work i was all miserable, throat swollen and sore like a sprained ankle. i talked a lot to my coworkers, mostly about nothing. By the end of my shift, my voice was so bad i sounded like i’d been lighting up since 1966. Doctors test for strep, rule out covid, and with two negatives we’re left here with swollen vocal chords and a strict ban from talking for two days. i’ve had this since tuesday, but today’s by far been the worst. At work, though, i used my discount to get myself a handful of books including Audre Lorde, an oral history of Joy Division, a poetry collection, and Cobain’s journals. ive always had such a dilemma w his journals... the first page they printed was printed with every bit of intention. Cobain wrote 

Don’t read my diary when I’m gone

OK, Im going to work now, when you wake up this morning, please read my diary. Look through my things, and figure me out. 

Isn’t that something? i get it, too. i’ll probably talk about this at length another time, but i’ve got a note in my wallet that says everything urgent about me because if i am to die soon, i need to be buried as myself. It’s a lot easier to hand over access of all your cards once your dead. You’re no longer in flux, so keep building yourself in others’ minds with the remnants left behind. something like that. While at work I found Jeff Buckley’s journals too.. i read one entry, it was trippy and felt like being abandoned. He wrote about listening to an angel sing the last song youll ever hear and the crowd and all that in such a beautiful way and man i cant remember the words. it was only about half a page worth of stuff. next shift i’ll get it... that shift is a 1-9pm. i’m gonna see if i can read Cobain through my horrible cough. i’ll talk about this later at length too, but i really wish i could leave school and work at the bookstore full time. it makes me so much happier