i hate you back
So: It's like this. This isn't a feeling, really at all. it isn't anything. i'm postmarking it and sending it to you, internet, but it isn't raw, it isn't pute, it isn't anything. Here's exactly what happens, verbatim.
I keep losing shit. A book, (that I then replaced, then found, then cursed, and soon will burn) And this is the main thing: everybody's fucking leaving. It's weird. as of Monday, or really as of RIGHT NOW I will never see any of these people kind of ever again. Except for the one I don't want to see. I'll probably see THAT one all the time (see jonal2point0.blogspot.com. That's where I really cut loose.)
but it's like, I don't think that I've really formed any close bonds here. That is, I've got some friends sure. Dudes' night, the high five squad, everything powers on, but when I go home, I've got my own friends for whom most of these people here were just stand ins. With the obvious exception of the french friend who I inexplicably got sick twice in a row. She's a friggin' riot. Plus she buys me drinks and dinner. High fives for you. Well done.
Mars Volta, sing me home.
The next month will change my life more than the last four combined. Amsterdam! A reunion! the greatest weekend of my young life! Lush and luxury in Paris! Idem in St. Flour! A re-reunion in Paris again! Vienna! Prague! Dublin! Paris again! and then never again! never Paris again!
The main thing you will notice in that exclamatory itinerary is a conspicuous lack of Montpellier. No more Montpellier. Montpellier? Not a part of the plan.
I'm even sick of being sick of this town.
I keep losing shit. A book, (that I then replaced, then found, then cursed, and soon will burn) And this is the main thing: everybody's fucking leaving. It's weird. as of Monday, or really as of RIGHT NOW I will never see any of these people kind of ever again. Except for the one I don't want to see. I'll probably see THAT one all the time (see jonal2point0.blogspot.com. That's where I really cut loose.)
but it's like, I don't think that I've really formed any close bonds here. That is, I've got some friends sure. Dudes' night, the high five squad, everything powers on, but when I go home, I've got my own friends for whom most of these people here were just stand ins. With the obvious exception of the french friend who I inexplicably got sick twice in a row. She's a friggin' riot. Plus she buys me drinks and dinner. High fives for you. Well done.
Mars Volta, sing me home.
The next month will change my life more than the last four combined. Amsterdam! A reunion! the greatest weekend of my young life! Lush and luxury in Paris! Idem in St. Flour! A re-reunion in Paris again! Vienna! Prague! Dublin! Paris again! and then never again! never Paris again!
The main thing you will notice in that exclamatory itinerary is a conspicuous lack of Montpellier. No more Montpellier. Montpellier? Not a part of the plan.
I'm even sick of being sick of this town.