a beer. cold. full. stomach.
watching the lamp post
in the corner of my room
as though
like the street lights
it to
will flicker
and make me feel
part of something
dark
and shadowed
who would i be
if pink floyd was not here tonight
invading my privacy
and licking my wounds
in the most erotic
yet subtle way

not sure anything feels amazing
in fact, i can say, everything doesnt
but isn't it how september always feels

tired. have a few papers to write. can't focus.

away from home.

at my old home.

going to new hampshire. debb & nick getting hitched. excited to go and have a crazy family time.

no more to say.

really.

morning. he made me breakfast. eggs, pancakes, bacon . . . coffee has yet to be acknowledged but i'll be doing that when i leave here. listening to responses in the form of the feminine.... listing a to-do list that never gets done . . .
tongue tied, when it comes to writing a five page paper on guilty pleasures.
i have too many to write about. and in other words as well, i am not ashamed, i savor the things that set me apart, so the assignment is kind of hard . . . . why should i make reasons why i love the golden girls, or why i can still rock out to old madonna (true blue style), or that i have 15 copies of the great gatsby - it's not a difference to be ashamed, but a difference to feel amazing in.