i spent the better part of the evening either napping or convincing myself that it WOULD be fun to get drunk and listen to music or make a cd or something.
but my heart wasn't in it. so i spent the night groggy or marginally tipsy. neither of which was fun in the least.
tonight, it would have been real nice to have someone to share the porch with. listen to the trains in the distance and the white trash kids next door. and then to tony who's lived in his house for 75 years watching david letterman and then conan o'brien at top volume. we could have shared smokes and pet the cats when they chose to come up the steps and we could have held hands. or played dominoes. or something.
oh, and by the way,
fuck you, too, chan marshall.
'Do you remember
That night at context
Making up shit
Like we were animals
We made no sense
No sense
We had no sex'
and fuck me for not knowing html at all because i really hate the look of my diray, knowing there are so many swank ones out there.
it's 418am, and i was supposed to be dreaming hours ago.
ours, ago.
come on stuart, let's curl up with the bunnies and call it a morning.
