mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary

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you are a radio, you are an open door

Four weeks. Holy holies, four fucking miniscule weeks and then up might become down, you know? My world may get flipped around so bad I can't even recognize it anymore. That was kind of the point when I planned this, though. I mean, that WAS the point. Everything new, fresh white paper, so white it hums. That was the whole reason I decided to go in the first place.
I've been spending a lot of time with the ol' MB lately and I told him the other day that our weird and illicit kinda-sorta relationship felt more normal than anything else I'd gotten myself into in a long time and he said it was because he was a normal kind of guy. Pfft. We all know I never like the normal ones. I hate to say it (and you, if you're reading this, you'll hate me saying it, too) but when our four weeks are up I am going to miss this. I won't have anyone to wear my frilly pink underwear for anymore. I won't have anyone to send me screaming and sweating to the moon and I won't have anyone to make me laugh for an hour afterward by doing impressions of a hapless French pick-pocket being mauled by a horde of angry American vigilantes. I'm keeping it in check just like I swore I would but when it's all over, yes, I will admit it, godamnit, when it's really really over, it may sting just the tiniest bit. And so it goes.
My "and so it goes" just reminded me that I should tell you all that Kurt Vonnegut died a few days ago. You probably already knew. Oh, Kurt. If there was ever an eighty-four year old man I wanted to grow up to be like, it was you. Sacred Miracle Cave, 2057. I'll bring the radio, you bring the dirty magazines. Cheers, brother.

5:35 a.m. - 2007-04-16

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