This is NOT Over

Sunday October 1st Woke Up This Morning

Actually I went to sleep and woke up this morning. That’s a lot to do in such a short time period. I’d say it was a very productive morning.

I should’ve gone right back to bed.

What is stupid about the whole situation is I went to sleep at like 6am, not because I was partying or screwing or fretting about how to make my next million.

The next million I make will be my first.

No. I stayed up until 6am looking for a stupid Nintendo game. Once I found it I decided I didn’t want to play it. But I was pretty proud of the fact that I found it in the messy den of iniquity Chris and I call home. If cleanliness is next to Godliness we won’t have any deities hanging out here.

Back to my exciting evening, which was in fact yesterday evening.

I turned the keyboard on and off for an hour while I smoked cigarettes.

That was certainly time well spent.

No Bear game until tomorrow. The Eagles? Randall Cunningham off to a fast start (he does everything fast)…Monday Nite? In front of people I said the Bears were going to lose. I picked the Bears to lose for the first time in four friggin’ years and I’ve been racked with guilt over it.

Yeah, I’m extremely rational and level-headed like that.

Went to John Parker’s to drink some nice beer and forget more pressing matters (*i.e. foreign & domestic oil prices) and whether or not pretty little red-haired girls like me back.

Miss D came back to town later in the day and we had a great night.

If I keep drinking so much beer in the afternoon before these rendezvous I’m gonna exceed the weight limit.

After D and I were done with whatever we were doing it struck me that I never got E`{`’s number after our hopefully less than Platonic walk thing.

I think it was less than Platonic. Walking occurred at the peripatetic school. That’s Aristotle right?

I’ll never learn.

Ok, so I didn’t get E`{`’s number.

Just fucking swell.

I spend almost seven hours with that kid and I don’t take a minute to get those all important digits? Shit, if I planned it out I could’ve asked her for one digit per hour and gotten the job done.

Sure it would’ve been weird but it also would be better than this.

I stopped thinking about how I didn’t get E`{`’s number after our night at the East Lagoon and instead took a walk with D around the West Lagoon.

Yeah I know I’m a regular lagoon hopper.

But I am a lucky bastard. I’m not going to be able to do shit like this for the rest of my life, however long that is.

Say I live ten more years and have some sort of normal job. There’s no way I’ll be able to stay up all night going from lagoon to lagoon with whoever I choose. I’m tired all the time now and I barely work 20 hours some weeks. I guess if I were to become a full on coke-head I could and should (if I am worthy of the name “coke-head”) stay up all night and run around bodies of water aimlessly. But even if my coke-head dreams were to come true, my focus would most likely be on the coke and not on finding cute, smart and fun girls to spend time with me.

Besides, nobody loves a coke-head.

Now forget normal job or my sad dream of becoming a working man with a drug habit.

Let’s say my job in ten years is ROCK STAR. I’m such a paranoid prick that even though I will probably be able to stay up all night any night I want, I won’t be able to completely trust the girls who spend those nights with me. I know that any girl who spends time with me now isn’t interested in image or prestige unless they’re into drinky-smokey-druggy-shady guys.

Also if my job is ROCK STAR, there’s no question that my side gig will be coke-head and as I’ve clearly established…

…nobody loves a coke-head.

I could be married in ten years. If I know me, I’ll probably be married in the next five years to someone I haven’t met yet. I’ll marry for love but ten years from now I’ll be the only one still in love.

Anybody who could love me at 30 has bigger problems than I do now and nobody alive has bigger problems than I do now.

This is beginning to sound like a geometric proof, but wait because I haven’t finished making shit up.

The only possible person who could love me at 30 would be 10 or younger at that time and that’s just sick and wrong.

Unless.

Unless I got you know who pregnant with one of our last sex with the ex encounters. The kid would be about 10 when I was 30 and there’s nothing wrong w/ a kid loving their dad. Now that I think of it, any and all sex with the ex-capades were contingent upon dirty, sinful business only being done on her tummy or her backside. I am nothing if not a gentleman and always mindful to respect the wishes of any lady who chooses to copulate with me.

Emily Post would be proud.

The point is, it’ll be a miracle if there is someone to love me when I am 30.

Miracles are possible, but counting on them is stupid.

The bigger point is I am happy now, lagoon hopping with two nice gals. I have something to look forward to every day, at least in the short term…so long as the lagoons don’t dry up.