As I write, Albert Hammond Jr. is playing a lovely song. I first heard it in Bellingham, riding around in a foreign town, dreaming about making a life there.
I was slumped in the driver's seat, letting the sound waves wash over and through me. I was driving down the highway, fantasizing about holding someone's hand.
The windows rolled down, a cigarette dying in my hand, my hair blowing around, the trees.
Love is so awful sometimes.
People keep informing me that I am so depressing. That I make them sad.
Well, sorry.
I am what I am. I've never lured a person into being my friend with false promises of how cheerful and upbeat my personality is.
You all know what you're getting yourselves into.
So just leave me.
So just stop calling.
I just don't fucking care.
I refuse to repent for my nature.
It seems like I'm at some pivotal point in my life.
If asked where I planned to be in six months, I would have no idea how to respond.
I've floated along all summer. But that has to end sometime. Right?
My head is throbbing. And this blog leaves much to be desired. Oh well. I just liked the picture Alec took of me today. It was perfect.
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