03.Apr.2002

April

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i. heart. jason.

Jason sent a new song to my inbox a few days ago, and I've had it on repeat for the past twenty minutes. To some degree, I feel like he sweats and toils over music while I sit there and eargasmically enjoy it, it's give and take.

It's officially April. I'm officially getting older. I have scratch marks on my back that are irritated by subtle movement, but it's a beautiful feeling. Random, deep conversations involving the smell of the ocean and its suffocating absence here in Oklahoma ensued last night.

My boyfriend stated over the phone 19 hours ago, "Ok, ok, we'll just move the ocean here to Oklahoma." They then went on to proclaim, "I miss it, too." I vowed to one day take them to Palos Verdes, California. It's been two years since I've seen it.

Ben had a job interview in Philly; haven't spoken to him in the last two days. Nervously awaiting his arrival back to the internet so he can give me details. I'm sure you did excellently, Ben.

Speaking of Ben, he ran across my livejournal, which irritated me for all of ten seconds. One of these days, I'll point him to the hidden diaryland journal I set up some 6 months ago.

Nothing is new in my life; things are brighter but for darker reasons. Last night was vigorous and stress-obliterating. I'm waiting for something although I haven't decided what. I miss train graveyards and their mystery. I want to get laid. I've opened back up to the possibility of being sexual again. I was on the rag for a week straight, five and a half weeks later.

But last night was stress-obliterating, and "Us" is repeating itself in my headphones, and my fingers are seconds from making a telephone call.

I miss you, Jason.

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time & machine