I feel intense, my brain is shot to shit. Sobriety tonight with no intent of changing anything about it and now it is five am on Sunday morning, I am still painfully awake, no one is answering their phone, and the one person who usually does answer went to sleep a long time ago.
Why am I such a sucker for nostalgia? A sleep-deprived friend of mine once told me he would only get off the phone and get his much-needed sleep if I were to promise that it would not be the last time he ever talked to me. We were both really tired, so it all ended in a fit of laughter that was sort of schizophrenic. That was the same night I was finally invited to hang out with a girl I didn't know too well-- I thought it was absurd that she actually saw me as a person, let alone a person whose company she actually wanted to try out. We weren't close in high school, which is probably why I was so surprised.
And now that is the past. So is the smoking room on the top floor of the Red Roof Inn, Anaheim. So are the tater tots that were supposed to be passed off as "mexican fries" in Oregon. So is the concert at the zoo in San Diego. So are the hazy drunken days of Silence of the Lambs worship in Germany. So, now, is listening to Tomorrow Never Dies on repeat, moonlit in Florida. So is the getting drunk in the San Francisco airport. So are the days of house-sitting and crushing cans. It all is... I can't decide if it's more fun or more heart-breaking to tread these lanes of memory, but at the very least, a lot of it still makes me smile.
Somewhere out there, a small silver star is sitting, waiting to glint at the right person and bring a touch of magic back into the world. The star was once mine... made of metal and looking quite a bit like the sort of pasta Campbell's uses in their chicken-and-stars soup. One day, I might just be lucky enough to have lost something in order for someone else to have found a smile.
Today, I was the recipient of someone's very first text message, and being first at anything is amazing. I want V8 with Tabasco sauce, pepper, and a stalk of celery, or six. One, because I am sick of all of the caffeinated garbage that is causing havoc in my system, and two, because Bill said, "That's not a drink. That's a heart condition." For some reason, that made me exceptionally happy.
What does not make me happy is that I am apparently really good at doing things that piss people off. I tread on toes... why? Do I see them? Maybe they just look like the road to me. What I'd give not to be so colour-blind, or so lacking in perception. Then again-- that's just another reason I'm a child. A child, in general, would lack the perception to know that every time their parents seemed to be speaking a foreign language, they're just spelling C-A-N-D-Y and don't want to get them too excited.
Right now, I want to be excited, and I wish I could speak a foreign, parental language to share it, because this seen-and-not-heard bullshit is beginning to wear really thin. I just need to find someone who speaks my language and will hang out with me under the boardwalk where it always stays cool and dim.
VEIL VEIL VEIL but wish to unveil unveil unveil. I'm sorry sir, I just can't handle the sun.
I want to throw rocks.