Walking to the grocery store today. It's the only excercize I get lately as I'm either what they call depressed or what they call lazy and no-good.
On the way there, I saw the man that lives in the tudor style apartment penthouse with the fly tv and rooftop deck. It has always been a "living the life" apartment to me. Hell it could be a condo even. He was plump, graying, and balding. Seemed nice.
Then as I was rounding the block to the store, a mercedes convertible drove by gently blaring "hotel california".
I purchased my fake crabmeat, rojo salsa, and cadbury almond bar and exited the store. Oh yes, I had bought a botte de vin as well due to my fucketness and the fact that mark has bought so much for me... the least I can do is buy him a bottle while I drink the remainder of last night's. He's out with buddy's today - trying to schmooze and get work. Quite the sad thing for him as he feels whorish.
Greg wrote me last night. It was one of the most touching. Very long and written at 3:30 am. He is in a boat that I am in, but we are in different sections of the crew. I love him and think of him as one of my dearest friends. Where greg and mark are = home, and it saddens me that I was this close - but likely had it happened, we would have bitched and not appreciated it. Now that we are mistake-makers and regretters, we would know.
I only think about the lover who scorned me about a minute each day. It's dwindling, and like "all the real girls" commentary says, I joyfully open my mailbox with a bit of fear. Lately it's been mother, twins, jane, and astrology, and sputters rivera and the like. Honeymoons always get over with.
When I got home, I realized I have that uncomfortable jiggle. The tight pants will follow were I brave enough/masochistic enough to try them on.
I watched the last of voyager - the one where seven of nine thinks someone raped her but they didn't and he dies... Now I'm starting "kagamusha" some samurai thing that I likely put on the netflix list when greg was visiting and it's finally it's surprising turn. I have a list that is 455 or somesuch. It's been a while since I cared about it, but I like the eggs.
I looked in the mirror a bit ago and thought of writing you. Sometimes I just have to look in the mirror to see that you're still there.