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There will be some point on some horizon where some thing will probably be right.

There will be a day in the future when I can give up my tired dreams and think of new ones.

I want to shake The Man Theory. You know, the one where a man drives from some far off distance to see me, the one with the hat I can�t remember. He�s grown facial hair now in my mind, and I wonder if he�s really just driving my brother�s old truck.

I saw an old man at McDonalds, eating a cheese burger, drinking a cup of coffee, wearing a wedding ring, without a wife. I thought to smile at him, as I imagined in my head he was enjoying listening to me laughing with my mother. Some self important element thought to smile at him, as though I was giving him a gift. I looked up at him and smiled, and then immediately looked back down at my fries. I want my life to be too much like a movie.

I always thought I could be a completed piece of art, and that some day I could say I was finished. Now I laugh at how silly I was at 19, trying to map out my life. Just the same way I laugh at how silly I am at 26, trying to map out my life.

No way I can make plans for anything past Friday, and I don�t know what I�ll be doing this time tomorrow.

I�m not sad for losing Bobby, I�m mourning my wish for his return, I�m upset that I have to give up that huge chunk of hope I�ve been holding on to.

So maybe hope isn�t the answer. When I stop to look around, I have to wonder if I can ever really take in all of the lessons I�ve learned today.

Don�t let me get drunk alone again after tomorrow, tonight. Don�t make me feel this again, today.

It�s all this huge work in progress, I can�t make a plan for this, there are no preliminary sketches, color schemes.

I don�t want sex, though that�s the word we use for it. I want the possibility of sex, as that�s so much better than the package. I want the box in front of me, but I don�t want to unwrap it. I want someone who smells good. A warm chest, and a finger tracing my panty line in the dark, under my covers, and a kiss good night on the forehead.

I want a look and implied meaning and inside jokes.

And maybe I�m happier without all of these things. Maybe I�m happy here with the perfect boyfriend that�s actually my cat, and the single girl dinner of tuna, and the bottle of Bacardi, half finished coke, and toilet bowl full of butts. I get all of the covers, all of the pillows, and all of my queen size bed.

I wish I could say I believed in that.

It�s just the rum talking.

I want a good life. I want a happy life. I want the pay off.

7:47 p.m. - 2002-11-27


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