February 18, 2003
Febrero, G
I should not listen to Paul Oakenfold while I am driving. I have this whole tendency to slowly accelerate to 'Ready, Steady, Go' until suddenly I am going 73 in a 55 mph speed zone.
Instead I should write a book to accompany the Bunkka album, which is wicked and delicious. I told Mike last night that I am going to marry Paul Oakenfold and have his babies, which we will name Paul and Paulette, appropriately.
I made excuses to myself on the drive over to his house last night, like I just wanted to return the ice scraper which he so generously loaned, or I just needed to use his computer to write my Spanish composition, or I just wanted to be able to make coffee in the morning.
I didn't make coffee this morning.
My Spanish composition was two paragraphs shy of required length.
I did return the ice scraper, though.
The truth was, of course, that I really just wanted to take advantage of him and then fall asleep with his fingers dragging across my back and his breath in my hair. My home has become where he is, though not necessarily his house. If he ever asked me to move in (which he won't), I would say no. That does not excuse the fact, however, that I have spent and will more-than-likely-absolutely-positively spend far too many nights wrapped up in two navy blue comforters and one pair of thin white arms. As soon as something here pulls through, I'll be moving out of both of these quasi-homes I currently inhabit. I'm hardly ever in my dorm, and the only thing that keeps me here is the high speed internet and my freedom to leave whenever I want. Escaping my house, and my father, are far more difficult. Also, dial-up shall be the death of me.
Today is going to be a long day. Why does a nap always seem far more appealing than errands?
astera at 11:18 a.m.