Maybe the saddest day of her life

I am getting really good at sitting in airports, waiting. I'm also
gettin really good at doing this by myself.

This girl, 8-12 years old, a few aisles away is not. She has a dad,
uncle, man, whatever with her.

I'm typing this on my phone listening to a song that reminds me of my
bus trip that was supposed to get me to Chicago, but just got me to
Denver.

She is wearing ears from Disneyland.

I keep thinking of all the airports. I keep thinking of all the
people, the ones I knew and the ones I didn't, that I flew with. I
keep thinking of all the things I was flying to, and all the things I
was flying from. I keep thinking about how I got dropped off at the
airport by someone new, again. I keep thinking about how long this
stuff can go on, and I'm probably comfortable with forever, most days
at least.

I don't know what she is thinking about. But for the last fifteen
minutes she's been silently crying. I think I'm the only one who
noticed.

I want to tell her it's fine, it'll be ok. The turbulence will be the
best part. She'll land home and her friends will be glad to see her.
And her pet will run to say hello. And someone will have made her
something special to eat. And she'll always be able to go home, there
will always be some place full of these wonderful memories with it's
arms outstretched, waiting for her. I want to tell her to stop crying,
not because I'm callous, even if I am, but because it's going to be
ok, it's all going to be fine.

She'll never be sitting alone in an airport, trying to figure out if
she's coming or going. Listening to the same song on repeat to try and
get some feeling back she had for a while. Trying to keep her hands
from shaking from the booze or whatever. Thinking about where she
thought she'd be when everyone started turning 27. Worrying about
never figuring out any of this stuff. Hoping the best for her friends
that make horrible deciscions, but seeing they are better than her
own. She'll be better than that.

She just took off her ears, more tears streaming then ever before, and
walked away.

Maybe we have more in common then I thought.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed for turbulence.

I haven't felt alive in a few hours.

I'll see in Seattle.

Human League was playing at work...

So I tucked my dick so I could be the waitress in the cocktail bar.

That much is true.

They see your every move...

I've pretty much given up on being the person I am supposed to be, at
least in certain company. Explaining yourself all the time gets old.

I'd like a forum where I could shout from a mountain top all of
someones failures, all their ability to be the whores that the bible
warned me about in 7th grade. But those places don't exist. And that
shout doesn't make me feel better.

I just play into it.

It is all fun and games until you are on the other side. Then you just
see everything played against you.

Let's be honest...

Hearing your ex-fiancé make plans to party in your shared room when
you are out of town really puts a damper on everything, especially
your trip.

But what can you do? You don't have the balls to throw her out. Or the
balls for any other part of your life.

Anthony, your lame as fuck. Shut up, grow up, and get your shit
together. All your problems are your problems.

Asshole.

It only took thirty minutes

Navigating the downward passage

Everything's gonna be ok soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.

All things being equal, I am a horrible person.

I am also not alone in this. But those people really only show up towards the back of PEOPLE and in the lead stories of the afternoon news. Don't get me wrong, I am not doing the things that put those people in those situations, but close enough.

I get really down on myself in these parts. It is not the place I want to be. It is not the way I want to think of myself. It is my way of coping, a little.

The problem is I can't help myself. I want everything, all of it, every little sip. I don't care who I hurt. I don't care how I look. I don't care if it is right.

I found out my Saturn returns from October 30, 2009 to April 7, 2010.

I am getting a head start on that.

I want to apologize, but I am too selfish and excited to run my life into the ground to worry about it.

Natalie, thanks for helping me realize what I am doing, even if you didn't know you were helping.

Here's to the next few years.

BEAR DOWN!

I am feathered by the moonlight...

I'm sitting outside one of the cleverly named coffee shops on campus.
I am eating almonds. Someone told me once that eating almonds is a
good way to center the soul if you've been feeling uneasy about
things. (*editors note: I made that up. Almonds are good.)

This Counting Crows song is playing: Murder Of One. Great song, but
not a hit, and not one you'd expect to hear out side of Freudian Sip.
(I would have gone the other way with it, Freudian Dick. Sometimes a
sip is actually a dick. Nevermind.)

Back to the song. It has been the soundtrack to, but not the
inspirations for two mini catharsis. One was on the 405 yesterday. My
deciscions are never the best decisions, but they are the right ones
for me. And then the other today. For being independent, I'm pretty
dependant. I always need aproval/encouragement from other people,
sometimes from people I don't like. About art, thoughts, choices,
pants, bedroom tactics, my moustache.

If I keep hearing this Counting Crows song I might be do something
bad, like develop a conscience. Or buy a house.

On an unrelated note, I found myself to be repeatedly making eye
contact with a woman across table area. Some dude just sat down and
put his backpack on the table. Her face is behind the backpack now. I
just got cockblocked by a backpack.

(chelsea said yesterday I hadn't updated in a while, so this is for
her.)

From this Hemingway story...

"I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it - look at
things and try new drinks?"

Yup, thanks.