Anonymous

A Story a Day
2004-08-05 07:07:13 (UTC)

i write to you because you're with me

2:48am
I got back from philly. the shoot ended early at around 9,
i didn't park cosmo's car illegally until 9:45 and the train
to new york didn't show up until and hour later. while i
waited i called christine. because we'd shot in mount
laurel which is right next to cherry hill which is where she
lives, where she'll always live, with her parents, until she
marries. and that was a bad idea. i didn't get the happy,
excited greeting, i got the surprised, i'm busy greeting.
she was at a friend's house. the conversation was forced
and brief and when i asked if she was going to call me one
of these days she said maybe. i should learn never to ask.
i don't know why i called her but i immediately felt worse.
much worse. i laid down until we got ot trenton. then i
sat up and realized i hadn't slept in 3 days. i didn't
sleep last night. too nervous. i just kept wondering who i
could talk to when i felt alone, which i did, since i don't
believe in god. i wanted to talk to god. but i felt silly
and realized it was kind of like talking to anyone, who
couldn't respond. so i asked brice dallas howard and
natalie portman to give me confidence to be a good location
manager in the morning. it didn't really work. so i
started psyching myself up in my head. "you can do it!,
you're an animal!, this is nothing for you!" i believd me.
but only a little. and as it got earlier and earlier i
realized it was futile to sleep, so i just layed. smiling
slightly, like a retarded child. i sung "lalalalala" in my
head and masturbated almost to the point of ejaculation, but
i wouldn't, i didn't, ejaculate. and so on this train ride
home i made that same stupid face. the peaceful forehead of
a simple man. i did it when the train screamed under the
hudson and an entire trainful of ears popped. i did it when
the subway wouldn't come and i wanted to shower. i did it
to stop thinking about christine moving on. "trying to be
happy" i used to tell myself. i hope she is happy. she
said she was happy before she hung up on me. and i got home
to some email and a letter. i was very fragile. i wasn't
in the mood for shitty responses to my notes. at the very
least i dind't have an empty inbox, or one full of job
listings and cock enhancement ads. so i read the letter
first, because i've grown so very comfortable with the
gentleness of her letters. the charming way she accepts me
with all my flaws. one day i hope to make them up to her.
i will tell her everything's going to be okay. because, at
that moment i believe it jsut may. but when i read the
emails, in order of who i thought would be kindest, i saw
that none of them were mean. some might have been written
drunk, some in a state of heightened loneliness so the
feelings and sentiments are hollow and transparent. but
some were written incredibly well. i have to talk to her
about sending me more thoughts from her head. she's the
queen of observations! the detail that i wish i could see.
harmony korine is a strange child. i saw his kids interview
with dave. he spoke about a friend of his being poked
through the buttcheak with a hotdog roasting stick. i wish
people would give him money for more movies.

2:05pm
sleeping is so much fun. i forgot.

1:04am (next day)
now that i have a job, writing doesn't seem like such a
burden. i almost feel now like i don't have ot do it. like
this job has given me some sort of purpose. when in reality
it's the very opposite. and i should know this. but i
don't. i just know that i sleep easier. i do less. i
worry less. i just let the pass, tittering my massive brain
against such issues as missing her birthday and cleaning my
kitchen. i wonder how much further down failure goes.




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