deignad

 

Ironic how I choose to blog in a public journal yet keep my entries solely private or friends only. Well, not like anyone really reads this space anyway.

 

The past week was myself being the epitome of a slug and whatever cells I have, left me not thinking a slight bit constructively. Too much Chinese take out, too much beer, too much poker. Despite losing a full thirty to Deb’s (who only won though evil underhanded means) royal flush last night, I feel strangely calm and at peace. This morning I woke up feeling relatively punched with that sick throb you get in your gut when you know your stomach’s not working right. I swear it’s the last time I’m having “cheesy cheese egg rolls” from China Grill. Stumbling into the bathroom being greeted by Mart’s naked baboon butt made throwing up a lot easier, and his expression amidst dodging my gaze while yelling “Get the fuck outta here!!!” with a pink toothbrush in his mouth was such a priceless polaroid moment. Heh.

 

So… is this what a holiday is suppose to feel like? At the back of my head I feel this throbbing sense to wake the hell up and start prioritizing. My mind’s moving but my body is strangely lagging behind. Sober, not sober. I don’t know, can’t really tell. All I know is I’m stuck in a place where I prefer not to be in and I can’t do anything about it. It’s always times like that when I’m this close to being the brat that I am, complaining to the world about how my life is so mother unfair, and it’s also times like that when that voice at the back of my head tells me to just shut the hell up and accept what I can and cannot change.

 

I’m think I’m destined to stay in Manhattan for the rest of my life.

There, I said it.

 

I need coffee. Right now.

I love the way you smile. 
I love your eyes.
I love smell of your hair.
I love that you can bake.
I love the little things that you do for people.
I love your handwriting.
I love your small, soft hands.
I love your surprises.
I love the sound of your voice.
I love your petty little tempers.
I love the way you can get so caught up in a book.
I love your photography.
I love your whinings.
I love your irritable ficklemindedness.
I love the way you sound when you're half asleep.
I love how you love Christmas so much.
I love the way your face lights up when you get excited.
I love you... through and through.

I love you, mind, body, heart and soul. Why can't you see?