DREAM: There’s special news coverage, maybe it’s underground news coverage, of President Obama attending a pool party. He’s not supposed to be there, or a lot of people just disapprove of him going to such a juvenile event, I guess because of the drinking that’s going on. There are frat boys everywhere and other college-age kids partying. I look over at our president—he’s wearing a pair of Speedo’s but with red shorts underneath. He’s smiling, completely satisfied and ready to have a good time.
Waking up just before 3 p.m.
Breakfast: Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc.
Driving to Key West, a locksmith over on Holland Road to get a doorknob re-keyed. This place is much cheaper than a standard locksmith that comes to you. As I’m waiting—checking out all the old antique locks and keys they have in the display counter.
Stopping by Car Max, where Skippy works to get some screws for my license plates.
Then, Kroger for some groceries.
Lunch: Egg Sandwich on Challah Bread with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.
Work at China Wok.
Eating a Mango.
Driving on First Colonial just past the overpass of 264. I spot Zana, the British speaking lady I ran into about 3 weeks ago, on the side of the road picking up litter off the grass and putting it into a garbage bag. I can tell it’s her because of that big bright smile. I’m tempted to stop and say hello but I’m in a hurry.
Back home. Changing the doorknob to my room.
Eating Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.
Cleaning up and doing chores.
At the storage unit rehearsing with Gabe for tomorrow’s gig at Club Retro down at the beach—going over tracks—practicing beats on the drums.
Back home. Cooking dinner in the kitchen while all the kids are getting hyped up over the alleged rapture that’s supposed to be happening at 2 a.m. on May 21, which is right now. Nothing happens. We’re still here.
Dinner: Sun-dried Tomato Chicken. Fettucini Tortellini. Broccoli.
Anthony shows me the photos that were taken of him and Kelley from a wedding they went to earlier today. [see above photo]
“Anthony, look at her eyelashes. That’s probably one of those things you like about her.”
Margot’s sending me persistent texts in ALL CAPS about coming over and HAVING SEX.
She’s here. After a 25-minute squabble of seeing the side to her that I don’t like, she eventually starts showing her dominant and affectionate side, my favorite side. Invigorating sex ensues. Feeling a little more aggressive—biting a little harder. I hate feeling out of control, especially with her. And in times of ecstasy I’m able to control her nervous system and create pleasure where sour words once ruled our moments. Our relationship sometimes is like a piece of Warhead candy. You have to endure the sourness on the outside to enjoy the sweetness on the inside. And after you’ve conquered one moment you know what you’re up against next time and you can assure yourself the sweetness is coming.
Sleeping next to my sweetness 5:20 a.m.
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