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 |  My first ever Writing.com journal. |
| i can't do this one, guys. it was intense, flawed and wonderful. that's the best i can do. i love him, i love having him here, i love him i love him, i missed being held, i missed hearing his voice without the crackle of static, i love him. he was a little mad because i wouldn't tell him what was wrong (everything, though he'll never know), because i said i just wanted to enjoy the twenty-four hours we had together, and we did just that, via various scattered moments spent sleeping in parking spaces at the smithsonian, various airport fiascos, various kisses in various places with various results (or do i mean varying? just like the difference between nauseous and nauseated, i can never remember that either. but look, i messed up a beautiful paragraph with vomit), my soul is full to bursting but i already said that. and i can't get more detailed than that and i won't try. i'm sorry, to those who asked. that day, the thirtieth of july, was ours. and shall stay that way. i babble too much anyway. it has to stop sometime. krystle called for a report, sure i was going to give her the details on every word exchanged and every drop of semen spilt. not so. i was coy this time, turned it back around on her, asked about her situation with mike, puzzled her to the point of frustration. she hung up angry and dissatisfied, and now i think we're not speaking. sorry, krystle. iwl call tomorrow to apologize. in the meantime, i'm playing literati with mariposa (who is, by the way, a rather formidable opponent, not that i'm at all surprised), waiting on katrina's return im, daydreaming about that island and decidedly not writing. also daydreaming about the renoir journal, which is now fourteen pages devirginized. its defloration was hard, fast, a wee bit painful but generally enjoyable, and we're going in for a second round in a few minutes. when i get the pictures developed, i'll put them up. it's the least i can do. i really was planning on something unconscionably long, six pages printed out like the shreveport debrief was. but that's because i was planning on this sucking, sort of. or of having some trite quality that i could render in that spun-sugar voice i sometimes use. again, not so. |
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