As I look at myself in the mirror, tousled hair and skin browned by time and sun, naturally scarlet full lips, a body that I thank my past self for taking the pain and the shame to work to its current level of fitness, I can say to myself: damn, I look hot. I should really fuck every morning.
I enjoy the process more than the ending. I realized this when time was too short to conclude things for either of us. He's a good guy even though he laughed at me for not knowing what a Prius is. That burned me up a little. And also nailed the coffin on any possible unconscious inklings of a future relationship. Thank goodness.
I am planning out my day, planning to do shopping and eating. I already have some ideas for artwork. I am refreshed and revitalized by the unfamiliarity of my domiciled surroundings. Though for sleep, I cannot abide the humming and whirring of the ever hiberating computer and I am awoken by the mere shift of the warm body next to me.
I've been playing way too much WoW since I got here. This touch of agoraphobia makes my heart pound when I contemplate crossing the boundary of this commune. For all of the aloof mannerisms that these hairy guys/quiet girls exhibit, I'm safe in their organized kitchen, their amazing chocolate almond cookies and their inadequately ventilated bathrooms with strands of hair everywhere.
Otay I get ready. Screw you Oldlock, I'm not going to wear myself out for Archimonde.
