woke. don't remember the dream.

mixture of physically tired, restless, wistful, wanderlusty, and cold. the humidity's been bothering me. i don't think i've been warm all day. sometimes you just want to wake up in the middle of the night, wrapped in warm blankets, in a hot room, because that moment of temperature-contentedness will be just what a soul needs, to fall back asleep easily, & happily.

i fell asleep pretty comfortably.

sleeplessness is probably how i got to know pbs a little too well.

this is a little bit of what living alone might feel like, when everyone is asleep, and i am awake. i'd take a walk, but this isn't the neighborhood for it, at this hour. i'd take my dog for a walk if i had one.

when i was young, this was prime paper-writing/ web-designing / painting time. bad sleep habits never quite go away, i guess. i wish there was someone awake to talk with. i'd exhaust my brain.
my mind's so loud. people just want to exhaust their sex drives; what about my brain?

playing cerebral games solo is like masturbation; at some point you just want another brain, another living mind to fuck, to make love to, to battle, maybe collaborate with, creatively.

thunder & lightning in the city, and i'd like to go sleep. i'd like for so much.

busy weeks, busy years. i love my friends. i love my true collaborators even more, who are my favorite souls. it's the hunger & drive & the need for fantastic execution, and they get it. so many easy routes to success, but they don't satisfy or challenge in the way that both hurts and feel so good. you can follow a clear, straightforward path, or you can just veer and go your own way. i have the best partners in kicking ass.

maybe i'll die before i achieve all the things i want. notes on mortality, things i think about generally, but lately, it's less philosophical musing, and more like a felt-reality. emotion makes all the difference in a concept being a cerebral plaything, or a factor in how one lives, presently.

i love my jazz. dead singers, melody, you are my fave companions. / i wonder how differently i'd be sleeping if i went out to catch tail instead of staying in. i could've theoretically rescheduled my morning, or've just made it work, but i didn't. i'm tired of making little inconveniences for myself. it's little sacrifices, and nobody really cares if i dick myself, or if i don't. (ha, ha, ha.)

i still want to move. i need a new space. i've been looking, so whatever. i don't want just any new space, but i'm sure i'll find the right place. while i'm being wishful, i want someone to love. i mean, i know i'm not at a dearth for friends & people to love, but it's that desire for a partner where it's like, hey, you, if you're sick, i'll make you soup because you need soup, but also, i kind of adore you, for just being human & alive in a je-ne-sais-quoi way that makes me happy.

love is like finding the perfect book, and it just makes you happy, because of the serendipity, but also, because you exist in the same universe of this wonderful thing, and you have found it, so you are never existentially alone anymore.

i don't feel like i'm existentially alone, which is excellent. my dude is out there. maybe i already met him, and i'm just oblivious to the obviousness of how awesome it'd be, or maybe i haven't yet, and we're about to encounter, but whatever. life is life. is short. is a rose, or rather, is a chrysanth, because i love those flowers. they're hardy and bold-beautiful, and they smell amazing. sure, they're not as soft or conventionally floral as other flowers, but they don't decay ugly.

a boy stopped by my bar the other night to tell me that he sold the little puppy that i loved, to a good owner. then he left. later, he came back with a rose. he picked up a bouquet for his friend's birthday, and decided to bring me a flower too.

i think gestures are cliche, but recognizing the cliche doesn't make it feel any less sweet. it made my evening a little lovelier. i talk cynical-cerebral, but i'm touched by all the little things. the thought counts.

also i really wanted that puppy. i cradled that adorable dude for the longest time.

on a different tangent, orgasms are great, but i want a guy who'll love me for being my silly weird self. high demands, i know. earlier i was kidding around with my best friend, and i was all like, man, some girls just want a guy to like them and do mushy boyfriend stuff like get dressed up and go to restaurants and be quiet at each other and give each other stinky flowers, and i just want a dude who likes hanging out with me and playing videogames and doing dorky artsy stuff. not that i'm not down to femme-up and go out, but i can already do that myself. the problem is that plenty of dudes are down to hang, but i have zero desire to sleep with most of them, and most of them aren't into good music or videogames or most of the stuff i like. that's like, zero connection. maybe i'll die alone because i need a guy to be funny, intelligent, relatively cute, relatively genuinely kind, driven, ambitious, self-aware, passionate about his interests, AND be mildly superhuman, while being also super human & mildly flawed in ways i'm going to find endearing.

also, i suspect marriage is for 50, 60-somethings. they seem to like it best. everyone else seems to kinda just grit their teeth through it, but maybe that's just the having kids & a family thing, which seems a little forced. contractual child-rearing!