(no subject)
phew
I'm not really tired. In fact, I'm far from it. I want to open my wallet and see 400$ in there, all in 5's, just burning to be spent. I want to get in my car and drive to the Flatbread Complany and buy four pizzas with everything on them and go to the bathroom and have someone walk in on me. But it'd be all right.
Instead, there is 4$ in my wallet I think and maybe three quarters in my pocket. And the Flatbread Company is so far away, and there is no one I can go with. There are some people, but I know the kind of person I want to go with, and they don't really exist.
Because the ideal companion isn't really a companion. Or maybe they are just that. It's someone who is there and who eats too and who contributes just enough gas to the conversation to let it run steadily so that the hum of the engine is not noticeable. And the conversation really drives, but not so much that you can't focus on the pizza. Because man is that pizza good. You realize you are staring at the posters on the wall and you wonder if it matters what they say. Because anything could be written on them and they wouldn't mean any more than they are as just pieces of fabric hung from a stick. But what does that matter? Oh yes, you remember, and the hum starts up again.
Afterwards, you go to the café where you can smell coffee, bean and beverage, and you can hear everything that everyone except your companion is saying. The walls are a light beige and you think you know those people over there and someone turns up the music and you wrap your hands around the mug to remind yourself of who you are. It is so warm and your face is still throbbing from the wind outside.
But I'm still here at home and nothing has happened, and nothing will happen. I'm not just about the books.
I'm not really tired. In fact, I'm far from it. I want to open my wallet and see 400$ in there, all in 5's, just burning to be spent. I want to get in my car and drive to the Flatbread Complany and buy four pizzas with everything on them and go to the bathroom and have someone walk in on me. But it'd be all right.
Instead, there is 4$ in my wallet I think and maybe three quarters in my pocket. And the Flatbread Company is so far away, and there is no one I can go with. There are some people, but I know the kind of person I want to go with, and they don't really exist.
Because the ideal companion isn't really a companion. Or maybe they are just that. It's someone who is there and who eats too and who contributes just enough gas to the conversation to let it run steadily so that the hum of the engine is not noticeable. And the conversation really drives, but not so much that you can't focus on the pizza. Because man is that pizza good. You realize you are staring at the posters on the wall and you wonder if it matters what they say. Because anything could be written on them and they wouldn't mean any more than they are as just pieces of fabric hung from a stick. But what does that matter? Oh yes, you remember, and the hum starts up again.
Afterwards, you go to the café where you can smell coffee, bean and beverage, and you can hear everything that everyone except your companion is saying. The walls are a light beige and you think you know those people over there and someone turns up the music and you wrap your hands around the mug to remind yourself of who you are. It is so warm and your face is still throbbing from the wind outside.
But I'm still here at home and nothing has happened, and nothing will happen. I'm not just about the books.