(no subject)
I've heard of many hangover cures, some elaborate, others involving wasabi. Above them all, I prefer processed cheese, melted, solidified, and in all of its many other forms. I feel fine. Better than I did a few nights ago.
It's the 3 a.m. phone calls from lovers past that really harsh my mellow. They used to make me want to write bad poetry in bed, now they just send back to the kitchen table, where my girls are, playing cards over one abandoned cocktail. Porny Gabe loves someone else and when he told me, the still waters between cool and insane became ever murkier, but I can't figure out why. My ego knows. "I wanted to be your only true love," it burns. Gag. That's not the life I want or I'd have forged ahead, beyond the four years we we oddly enough endured. At least when he called I was drunk and my cell phone made him sound like he was even farther away than he is.
To be out of town for a night, somewhere with no connection to my real life or real love, that's what I crave. So I booked a trip to Austin, a locale that pops up in conversation, but on maps is given the distinction of being home to The Gays and the toughest rollergirls around. I did it for the stories too. I'm all dried up.
It's not Mexico, but it's a vacation The Place That Won't Be Named can't stop me from taking. And for whatever reason, 2005 isn't shaping up to be the kind of year that affords me two weeks south of the border, for better or worse. Point. Round. Loss.
At least now I have something to look forward to and a month of looking forward to it. I like the anticipation of trips, holidays, even when they're not mine, they provide a pause in a life otherwise pretty mundane.
The roses and chocolate that temporarily made a cubicle seem bearable are now dead and eaten, respectively, restoring the depressing equilibrium that preceded them. The Gays went noticeably overboard this year, sending so many gifts that I had to make two trips to get all of my spoils upstairs.
I bought myself some new flowers over the weekend, for my apartment, a much more suitable place for anything that needs air and sunlight in order to survive. A much better place than here.
It's the 3 a.m. phone calls from lovers past that really harsh my mellow. They used to make me want to write bad poetry in bed, now they just send back to the kitchen table, where my girls are, playing cards over one abandoned cocktail. Porny Gabe loves someone else and when he told me, the still waters between cool and insane became ever murkier, but I can't figure out why. My ego knows. "I wanted to be your only true love," it burns. Gag. That's not the life I want or I'd have forged ahead, beyond the four years we we oddly enough endured. At least when he called I was drunk and my cell phone made him sound like he was even farther away than he is.
To be out of town for a night, somewhere with no connection to my real life or real love, that's what I crave. So I booked a trip to Austin, a locale that pops up in conversation, but on maps is given the distinction of being home to The Gays and the toughest rollergirls around. I did it for the stories too. I'm all dried up.
It's not Mexico, but it's a vacation The Place That Won't Be Named can't stop me from taking. And for whatever reason, 2005 isn't shaping up to be the kind of year that affords me two weeks south of the border, for better or worse. Point. Round. Loss.
At least now I have something to look forward to and a month of looking forward to it. I like the anticipation of trips, holidays, even when they're not mine, they provide a pause in a life otherwise pretty mundane.
The roses and chocolate that temporarily made a cubicle seem bearable are now dead and eaten, respectively, restoring the depressing equilibrium that preceded them. The Gays went noticeably overboard this year, sending so many gifts that I had to make two trips to get all of my spoils upstairs.
I bought myself some new flowers over the weekend, for my apartment, a much more suitable place for anything that needs air and sunlight in order to survive. A much better place than here.