Day many. April 2008: I lay here on my 3rd glass of red wine, smoking a Dunhill and listing to a Junkie XL remix of Coldplay's "Talk." Outer space seems like the best way to escape. Laying in the sand, staring at the sky and thinking about the idea of why I didn't spend the summer in Spain. Holding that special someone's hand, smiling and truly meaning it. Being artificial is no different then putting sweet and low in your morning cup of coffee.
I won't cry. I will not let any of this get to me and for the nineteenth time, I will not get a therapist. Tonight's plans were cancelled last minute and that's okay because I had no interest in "hooking" up anyway. It's all childish behavior to say the least.
Today: I'm sitting in my kitchen discussing politics with my housekeeper. She is eating tamales as I keep kosher with a cup of tea and wheat toast. And across town sleeps a person with the new sudden urge to say hi. Indulging in their cup of coffee for the third day of communication in a row; somethings just never change, do they?
You tell yourself how you will evolve but it's just the same. I will intensionally not repeat the word "same" again as that would carbon copy Biden's speech on Wednesday.
Woah, remind me never to listen to Katey Perry. I think the thought of just imaging her face ponders the question of why a girl would even kiss that. Instead, spend your day making plans for Labor Day weekend. A trip to Fiji sounds nice...
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