n: vb: the spice of imagination
To Ethan, Ian, Victoria, Dan, Matthew and Ryan:
Whichever of you left the shirt behind, thank you. I do however have quite a collection already of other peoples clothing and as the shirt is still with it’s tags from the store, I am assuming you have not even the pleasure of wearing this item. If you wish to retrieve it, please say so and I will put it aside for you, otherwise I shall claim it as it is big and comfy and black.
How often do you feel on fire lovelies? I’d like to ascertain the normalities of desire. The need suddenly to be around people. To hear a voice simply talking. Turning off the light futily at four:thirty in the morning, I wanted to get up and go for a walk last night but I was afraid of whose house I would end up at, because it would not have been mine. I would have gone to Marcs place maybe, because it’s safe there. Kept him up all night talking about nothing and everything. Complaining about my sexuality kicking in probably and computers and what I want to do with cameras. I could have slept there, but in the early morning when he untangled his arms out from under me to get up for work, I would have felt guilty for not letting him sleep. I would end up at the kitchen table with dear Gerry, his roommate, and maybe Christina, or Paul partner, feeding the baby Macalli and looking more sheepish than sheep. My hands around a cup of something warm in the cool morning and embarrassed a little at being there. The likelihood of being let in is far lower than at other houses, especially later at night, but he’s one of the precious immune-to-jhaynes. Instead I lay frustrated in the dark. Brows furrowing and an emptiness at my back. Tiny involuntary sounds and twitch. Sick and miserable with tight flame.
I sincerely couldn’t find sleep last night. I wanted to talk with people, not lie abed with my brain moving too fast. Be up and hear voices. If I was going to stare at a ceiling, I wanted to be listening to someone. I went through a list of people who would let me in at two in the morning. I was caught in my own brain too much. I wanted to listen to someone else’s thoughts. I think somewhere my brain picked Marc this morning when I got up because he’ll simply talk. It was weird to look up and read what I’ve just written. Then, of course, the idiot impulse “I’m going to send this to him” *laughter* Welcome to idiot impulse. Please don’t take it badly.