friday

i woke up late again. this time at 12.30. when i sat up in bed and looked over at the clock, the heavy film of sleep still thick on my eyes and skin, i cursed. fuck! i have start getting up earlier.

it makes it tough when you dont get home until 3.30 am. still buzzing from the aimless conversations, the experimental martini's, the silent judgements of strangers ill probably never see again. i get home and unwind, no matter how late it is. staring into space or at the computer screen, absorbing the night and the morning. trying not to worry about anything for a brief moment before i go to sleep. i take an hour or so sitting in the quiet. i usually crawl into bed at 5 am. sometimes later. i promise myself ill get up at a reasonable hour but i break promises to myself all the time.

tomorrow i have a full day off though. i want to let the heat pour into me. i will take a bike ride maybe. possibly stop in the park and lay down for a bit, looking up into the sky and thinking about things.

me and my girlfriend are going through a rough patch.

thats what we call it, a "rough patch." but we dont refer to it often, so we dont call it anything much.

we might take a break. whatever a break is. a split between time. a division of worlds. but we dont know yet, the tangle of confusion that is love and commitement has kept us knotted up, sad and hurt and fearful. we hold eachother at night, or i hold her while she sleeps, and we let the hours do their work. we let the universe figure it out for us. passive and unbelieving. its a dull ache. we dont even know what to call each other anymore. the loving nicknames we have created for one another now carry a mournful tone when said. honey is no longer so sweet. baby is now just condescending. buns is cold and tasteless. our real names too strict and formal.

she says im too private, which i am, but that im so proud of it. so simple and determined, to escape into my head, away from her and all the rest of it. what do you do on your computer? what is so important? what do you write? why? i dont do anything, i say. i write about the things i think i know. and then i just stare at the floor and see nothing. meaningless wood and dust. i wonder what to say. i never know what to say. dont you think im sexy? you never even look at me, i never see you. her curves are gorgeous. slow and defined. so beautiful. her bangs make her eyes a mystery. her lips pout out in sex and anger. i look around. the house is a mess. we havent had the time to clean it. shit.

im a fool.