I was on the roof. My secret haunting ground lately since the move. My mind is constantly feeling as though it is going crazy. I cannot recall with much accuracy how many times I have thought about jumping off the roof of a tall building or shooting myself in the head in the last three weeks. This is what happens when nothing is going on…’ I think to myself. ‘this is what happens when it feels like there is no solid ground beneath your feet. [the king screams at me over the phone from la, ‘dude you sold a house that you love, you sold a car that you loved even more, all so you could move to a city you love… so what the fuck are you doing living in a tiny one room apartment in a city that you hate with everything you own in storage?! I would have blown my brains out a month ago if I were you living like that. Pack your fucking bags, book a ticket, and get to New York! Live at a hotel if you have to until you find an apartment, but carry this thing through to the finish line man!’]
I think about eating. But as always, I’m not hungry. I have lost ten pounds in the last month. Funny. I know people who would do anything to lose ten pounds. But I just can’t eat when I get stressed out like this. my stomach always feels like it is in knots. Not upset. Just full all the time. can’t complain about it. it’s a good look. I feel like I haven’t slept in months. Maybe years now. circles under my eyes. again, a good look. Can’t complain. The vampire look is always in fashion. But I pause to think about how fast I am aging like this. stress, anxiety, panic, pain, general unhappiness cannot be good for you. I look like I’ve aged ten years in the last six months. I think about heading off to morocco for a while. why I’m not sure. It keeps coming up for me all the time. Maybe that trip to Paris for six months after all. i remember that French is the last of the romance languages left for me. [although recently a chick from Romania told me that Romanian is also considered a romance language. I’m still not going to learn it though.] Gotta learn French; seems impossible. So fucking UNphonetic! But why not do it now. I taste the idea for a few seconds. Great; I’m just going to sit in some strange school again for six months and travel about another city aimlessly as if I’ve got no life and nothing to come home to. Nah. I may not have a home now it is true, but I have a life.
Mom says your home is you and wherever you are. Mom is right. I thought about calling Beav just to shoot the shit, maybe mom, or Madelyn, or the Little Tree, or the King. But instead I opened up my laptop and started viewing those movies of Giovanna that I took in Rome last summer. I hadn’t heard from Giovanna in about six months now. we were supposed to get together this august for a week or two. Thought I’d watch her in the videos for a while. but that just made me remember why I hadn’t called. Smart, sweet, sexy. Great body. But not the one. for some reason I can’t go there anymore. Not even in the moment. you’d think I could at least fake it. Being faithful to the love of your life is hard enough when you are together. but when you haven’t met yet, its even harder. But somehow it isn’t even a choice now. I think to myself sometimes, ‘I wonder what she’s doing? Is she getting some?’ But somehow I have found it rather difficult to even fake it in the moment, even to get some. Bas says I should shut the fuck up. that I’ve gotten more than any man should be allowed in one lifetime. Yes my friend you are probably right. but my mind flashes to an image of me in a hotel room with a whip, some chocolate, a case of Champaign, a video camera, and ten naked Swedish eighteen year olds… so if I’m so ready to meet the ONE, what the hell is all of that? I wonder if thoughts like that ever go away for us men? Maybe we’re just stuck with them forever.