Pretend I wrote this yesterday
I talked to Reid today as though I was reading the epilogue of some Ann Rice thriller - it had that morbid sense of why-isn’t-this-over-yet? And you’ve realized you want the sequel and not some storybook ending, but you keep reading, unsure why, knowing you’re just prolonging that inevitable page where the type only goes down a third of the way.
Then he and Lane regaled me with stories from the drug crowd: late nights at hotels, bills charged to the wrong credit card, Sebastian’s merits, Charlie Major and secret Caribbean bank accounts. Cigarettes. Sushi. Then it was back over the hill, listening to the details of this intense rehab program that no one should ever think of sending their kids to. I don’t know what Pat (Reid’s mom) is thinking. She’s made bad decisions, but to think that she could sit down with Jeff and his shrink and decide to throw in the towel on Reid sickens me. And for what? I can’t bear to go on listing all the things wrong with this, throw together body paragraphs, point out evidence. I have this mental picture of Lasseter (the shrink) and Jeff throwing some x-ray on a lightboard and telling Pat’s where Reid’s problems are. ‘Here, here and here. And we just can’t do anything but send him off.’ What a fucking cop-out. Sickens me.
Then I visited Chelsea. You know, I love her. I mean, I love being with her, I don’t love her. And I don’t think I love friends. I mean, in that - let’s be explicitly clear - Romeo & Juliet way. I suppose that should be some kind of disclaimer. If your relationship with me began as friendship, just forget any notion of deceitless romance. Hugs goodbye.
I took my CinStuds final, which was actually not as easy as I’d anticipated, and trudged through lots of traffic back to HP. I just opened my letter from Anastasia, which makes me ecstatic. She sent me a glorious semifaded letter bursting with thought and a hand-rolled cigarette. I’m going to read and smoke.
And now Day One is over.
Then he and Lane regaled me with stories from the drug crowd: late nights at hotels, bills charged to the wrong credit card, Sebastian’s merits, Charlie Major and secret Caribbean bank accounts. Cigarettes. Sushi. Then it was back over the hill, listening to the details of this intense rehab program that no one should ever think of sending their kids to. I don’t know what Pat (Reid’s mom) is thinking. She’s made bad decisions, but to think that she could sit down with Jeff and his shrink and decide to throw in the towel on Reid sickens me. And for what? I can’t bear to go on listing all the things wrong with this, throw together body paragraphs, point out evidence. I have this mental picture of Lasseter (the shrink) and Jeff throwing some x-ray on a lightboard and telling Pat’s where Reid’s problems are. ‘Here, here and here. And we just can’t do anything but send him off.’ What a fucking cop-out. Sickens me.
Then I visited Chelsea. You know, I love her. I mean, I love being with her, I don’t love her. And I don’t think I love friends. I mean, in that - let’s be explicitly clear - Romeo & Juliet way. I suppose that should be some kind of disclaimer. If your relationship with me began as friendship, just forget any notion of deceitless romance. Hugs goodbye.
I took my CinStuds final, which was actually not as easy as I’d anticipated, and trudged through lots of traffic back to HP. I just opened my letter from Anastasia, which makes me ecstatic. She sent me a glorious semifaded letter bursting with thought and a hand-rolled cigarette. I’m going to read and smoke.
And now Day One is over.