«« (back) (forward) »»
Untitled Untitled



2002:May:24
Wassup gentle reader? I have missed you. I am still a bit puny from my eXcellent time the other night. I hope it is that. I really hope it is not work because I just do not know how to fix work right now.
Every day this week, at least once a day, I will think to myself, "self, your head has not stopped pounding all day." I wish my job was honest. My job is so easy. But the drama, the ego, and the game, of J, one of my bosses, never stops and he seems to grow more needy, as each day unfolds into noisy monologues coupled with incessant cries for empathy.
Again, I hope it is not that. Maybe it is because I do not talk to you more? I constantly think of writing to you, all day, everyday. I beat myself up for consistently not writing so that I can do bills or laundry, etc. the trappings of the world and such that we must do. Sigh, I must do those things tonight. I think I have a rash on my neck from a shirt that I febreezed one time too many. But all that will change gentle reader, I promise you. I have had a bit of a sniffle as of late, you see. I do miss people so. Or, I guess, my close friends, I mean. I really kind of like it that way, for now, anyway. I even deleted all of my porn. I really just do not feel remotely sexy anymore.
Hmm.. I do not know if I ever felt sexy. I think I just do not feel randy anymore. If you know what I mean.
Well, ok, what the hell, its you right, I gave in again, I did. But you know, I never will again. I guess I realized that I cannot just fool around with someone that I do not give a damn about. Maybe I am getting old. I was just turned off. I feel as if I have reverted back to the sexless Mike from college. Only, I am not smiling so much lately. Maybe that is a good thing. A, the astrologer, did ask me to think of what I could achieve if I let all that making up for lost time fall away. What am I doing man? Gentle reader, I mean. I want to write everyday. I want to create. I want to get up with these nice kids here in town and make some art. What the fuck am I doing bitching about work?
I will always hate work. So do lots of people. I do not want to die now. Yes, we are all food for worms anyway, but how do we get back to youth. You know, when we enjoyed everything. No, not everything, I mean, I would talk to anyone. I had no angle and I was so fat there was no question of me ever coming off as trying to hit on anyone. Sexless. You can be a wonderful and vacuous sponge.
Sure, some people are freaked out, but a lot are not, it depends primarily on the diversity of the town. Wilmington is a bit weird that way. I like the friends and extended friends that I know, though. I should make an effort to hang out with them more. Not too much though, but if I am at home I should be writing or something, etc. The older I get the more I seem to have a need to relax, unwind, etc. and that is fine, but jeez. You would not believe how I let things go in my teeny tiny studio in the sky. Live. From, downtown Wilmington.
Peace out.
Love, Me.




›post #20
›bio: michael
›perma-link
›5/24/2002
›20:03

›archives
›first post
›that week




«« (back) (forward) »»
Untitled Untitled




© happyrobot.net 1998-2024
powered by robots :]