i guess there's only so many chocolates and tubs of ice cream you can eat right. eventually you just run out of tears and are forced to leave the sofa where you have camped for four days, sending out for pizza and smoking enough weed to keep jamaica smiling for years.
eventually you have to shower and clean your teeth and start answering calls. fuck there's been a lot of people trying to catch me, but to be honest i'm not that enthused to get back, i'd just bore them with war stories. nope, it's best if i just stay on the sofa and smoke more weed, watch romantic comedies and drink that black beer i like till i pass out. maybe i will sleep a few hours, i certainly need to. blah!
occasionally i manage to write a few e mails, research a trip, add to a story i'm writing but the pull of the sofa is strong. my heart hurts, it feels really weird and my guts ache like hell. the only place for me at the moment is under a blanket.
i don't like this feeling at all. i'm such a clique.
and then like a prayer answered she turns up at 2am to speak. i don't know what she's saying though, a whole bunch of stuff, speaking tongues, talking heads, it just pours out from her like niagra falls, and i'm in a barrel falling over the edge.
the gist of it is time. she needs time. so what can i do, time is where i am stuck in since she turned up, time is my prison. so i guess i will just pace it's dimensions and see what happens while doing a few other things. completing my books for starters and planning a trip where i can just loose myself in something else. spain calls, nepal screams, and canada is an option now for a more permanent position. alternatively, i could just stay put and see what happens over the awful winter months ahead. maybe hell will freeze over. maybe heaven will arrive with all its angels and angles, i don't know anything, i'm just drifting through a shit load of hurt.
we watch the sun rise over terrible beach and for a moment i feel happy and home, but it can't possibly last and as soon as i feel it, i let it go.