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1:10pm I’m out of bed.
Dream: I’m in an unfamiliar house and I receive a text message from Marleigh. The text includes a very specific list of everything I’ve accomplished that day. There’s even a few pictures attached with lots of colors. I was impressed with her accuracy. So I walk into the living room where Marleigh and her friend Emily Jones are sitting and I ask Marleigh kind of jokingly, “Do you want to be my secretary?” Emily talks about how Marleigh had been looking for a job. I explain, “I don’t have a lot of money but I can pay you a little something. And you’ll have shelter.” At this point the option is intriguing to her and both of them discuss it. (I have only met Marleigh and Emily Jones once in waking life.)
Breakfast: hot Oat Bran Cereal with Cinnamon and Blueberries, Orange Juice, Zinc and Vitamin E.
I get my taxes done at Jackson Hewitt as a mystery shop. I come home and fill out all the paper work and scan in all the documents.
Lunch: Toasted Peanut Butter and Strawberry Jelly Sandwich, Baked Lay’s, and Honey Green Tea.
Work at China Wok is extra long. Tips are decent. A Banana and a Granny Smith Apple tide me over.
Dinner: Vegetable Lo Mein.
I eat a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal.
Game Night at Rick’s Café: Sequence, Egyptian Rat Screw, Speed, Scrabble, Phase 10, Uno, and the Card Guessing Game (Kudos to Marleigh for guessing the 2 of spades!)
I eat Garlic Toast and Blueberries.
That distinct odor, strong. It almost smells like tomatoes. In ecstasy, in a sexual fire. Touch here. Touch there. It doesn’t matter for all the physical geography has been discovered. Over and over again. Welcome back to the cycle of Love/Hate. The story of St. Valentine is a tragedy. Valentine’s Day is about tragedy. Without tragedy, life is without structure or valour. Maybe you don’t believe in meaning but that is precisely what tragedy gives us. You wanted me. I wanted you. I warned you.
Sleep 6:14am.
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