This House Just Aint No Home

How I know that I am in a state is that I got a sack earlier. Drove all the way across town to meet some boy in a parking lot in Hunter's Point. He was in my car for 5 minutes and we hugged before saying goodbye.

Then the whole drive home I was distracted by the smell of his cologne.

The last time I made out with a boy I wore my little dress to bed because it was scented like him. I dreamed him all night and woke up sprung.

Doesn't matter either way. I'm impressionable. So impress me, you know?

I guess that I am boy crazy. Now and always. I'm either crazy about a bunch of boys or crazy for one boy. Beyond reason. But not beyond self-preservation. Which is how I can stand here before you and speak on it.

Are you following? Or am I getting too flowery and rambling? I am trying to be poetic about a thing that is very base.

Fact is that I probably just need to get laid, then I will quit all of this fantasizing and acting like I'm deep. Then I will be back to business, as fresh as ever.

But the whole process of that. Finding someone to fuck, or even to play Scrabble with me on my couch. So treach! So trifling! So tiresome! I'd rather do my budgets and schedules.

And oh. I have so many of those. Advertising has seasons, and this is the busiest season of the year. I could work 12 hour days every day and still not get everything done. I do. And I don't. And that kind of turns me on, too.

So doing work makes sense. Even when I'm getting hung up on the smell of the herbsman's cologne. I'm thinking. Could be worse. Instead of doing spreadsheets and longing for a snuggle, I could be trying to make spiritual sense of some dude I met at a fucking nightclub. Ha.

As if.

None of that. I'll know when I'm ready. And it's not now. I can hold out a little while longer.

Laters. TGIF.