And yeah, by this point, you already know that I am a big fat fucking liar, or that I am a fucking pussy, unable to hold to my resolution for all of - what was it: two days? Two whole days I am unable to hold to my resolution to avoid the internet. But I have my reasons, there is that aforementioned half bottle of wine downed by me, and there is that movie calledAnnie Hall that I just watched. And perhaps most importantly, there is the fact that I just watched this movie by myself. Alone. Jamie is off with some boy or other doing some thing or other, and I had resolved to myself to be doing the same thing, the same some things or other, but there is of course that little problem of not knowing anyone. Perhaps, a big problem considering the resolution.
And yeah, let's sidetrack for a bit to tell a story, the story of last night, of how I went to bed early because I was tired from having to be at work at eight, and had to be at work at eight again the next day (what was today). So, I was really horny last night, so fucking horny, and my penis was ready for some self loving, and so was I. I wanted nothing more from this little world, but there was a problem, a problem either of my own or of this world's. It was damn cold outside, and also in our house without heat, and I was fucking cold too, trying to sleep inside this house, and was bundled up under covers, and ---
someone just came to the door, a teenager selling candy bars for school, and I was excited. I thought it was someone I knew - and this is important to the theme here, stay on your toes - this is so symbolic - and I said I didn't want any - that I had no money ---
it was cold, and I was bundled up under covers, so fucking cold everywhere, but my penis was either unaware of the coldness or indifferent cause it was all about the self loving. And so I tried, but I was too nervous to jizz under the covers. I did not want to have to sleep in a puddle of my own jizz or get it all over my comforter, so I tried throwing my comforter to the side and was just going to clean myself off with a towel, but I was fucking cold and said forget it - said I am just going to sleep without masturbating - too fucking cold for this right now. And I really don't see the significance of this story, but I know that when that candy boy came to my door, when I was running to my door still unaware of who it was, of who it might be, I thought that it might be Andrew. And this is probably because I just watchedAnnie Hall and wanting to experience love, I ran to the door, giddy, excited that someone was at my house, someone was visiting me.
And maybe some mention of Andrew should be made now, because he is the boy that was thought of throughout Annie Hall, he is the boy during cute moments, I squirmed under my blankets and thought about how I want to be with someone, how I want to be Woody Allen. Or Diane Keaton for fucking sakes. It didn't matter, and it still doesn't - I just want to be somewhere in the equation, with someone I loved. And so I wrote this card for Andrew a week ago, stuck it in his box, and told him that he should call me over break and that we should hang out. This was inspired by a conversation I had with him drunkenly at a wall in which he said (and which I believed) that he wanted to hang out over break. And so, I thought he would have called, I did not think of it as a crapshoot, the card. Rather, I thought of it as a guarantee, that he would call, and that I would see him. And well, I have not seen him and no, he has not called, if you could not already guess that from me watching Annie Hall all by myself with lit candels and drinking wine. And now Les Nubians as the soundtrack. I am really a little hurt that he has not called, a little shocked, and we all need the eggs.
It made so much sense when I watched Annie Hall - too much sense. Woody knows whats up, and I want to. I want to feel it too. I am going home to Virginia in two days, and that is two more days that Andrew will not call me and that everytime the phone will ring, I will naively hope that it is him, and then not be at all surprised find out that it is someone for Jamie. So what if they share fucking intials. After Jamie watched Annie Hall two days ago, I asked her how A.H. was and she said Andrew Hossack did not call. And that wasn't what I meant. Annie Hall!!!!! Fuck Andrew!
How about life, and the living of it? I went and saw the Rodin exhibit for the second time yesterday and again I saw the quote painted on the wall near the exit saying, "Take any model you can get, they are all beautiful." And it's fucking true, it all is. And, and, and - can I begin any more sentences with "and"? Probably, but let's try not to.
I held my hands together tonight, above the blanket on the couch while I was watching this movie because it was cold, because my hands needed "a little of that human touch," to quote Brucie Bruce. And I can do that, and I started another one with "and" - but whatever, I can. I can do that, hold my hands together, feel warm, cozy. It's so close, but not the same - I wanted someone's hand to hold, to fucking rub the little fleshy part between the thumb and the index finger. And fuck it, I do, I need the eggs, it's why I do it all - why I do this, even though I tell myself I shouldn't, that I am not going to - it is because I want the eggs, damnit. And something about who came first. And the eggs, damnit, the eggs! First and last and now, fucking fucking right now.