[i]
DREAM: This kid is taking drink orders behind a bar outside. He specializes in frozen alcoholic drinks. I pick the ginger rum. After a while everyone gets anxious and impatient because it’s been hours. He explains that it’s going to take a long time because they need to stay in the deep freezer.
Alarm goes off at 11:35 a.m.
Before I leave for work, I kneel over her in the bed. Pulling the sheets off, revealing her glorious naked figure. I scan over the curvatures and slick features. She’s so fucking beautiful...but a fucking mess internally and it’s such a fucking shame.
Banana. Fig Bar. Orange Juice.
All day shift at China Wok.
Grilled Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Potato Chip Trio. Vitamin Water.
Margot does a surprise visit...
Complimenting my 4-day-old shaven face, “I like you with scruff.”
Riding around. She brings up something trivial about being left out of last Friday’s activities at The Belmont and how I didn’t invite her. Of course this was the day after her little breakdown with me so I didn’t necessarily want to see her so soon after that fiasco. It still baffles my mind how one-sided she is when stating her feelings. She has no ability to put herself in anyone else’s shoes. I run my mouth, lecturing her on this subject...
Me: “Margot, you know I’m a really understanding person. And I’ve been incredibly understanding when listening to you. The least you could do is return the favor.”
The day continues and so do the orders. Not much time to pop a squat for more than a few seconds.
Boston Crème Donut and Coffee from 7-11.
Elliott drops by and rides around on a few deliveries.
Tofu and Mixed Vegetables and Rice and Garlic Sauce.
Finally off work.
I was forewarned about a destructive rampage at the house so when I arrived that’s exactly what I witnessed, at least the after math of it. Anthony informed me the other day that Josh would be visiting the house. I knew what was in store. But apparently he brought along a mass of kids from Norfolk. The place is a complete wreck—pictures torn off walls—couches turned over—clothes—records—food—covering every square inch of the floor. Should I be upset? Having no time to comprehend the scene I retreat to my bedroom immediately.
...
Margot was at some Christmas-Sweater party at a co-worker’s house in the south end of the oceanfront. She calls/texts me, super duper drunk, not angry drunk, but anxious and tender drunk.
“I MISSS YOU...COME GET MEEE!”
But she almost sounds upset—crying. It’s nothing but a hazy daze she’s stuck in. I trek over there and pick her up. In the passenger seat she’s exhausted and still crying about how much she misses me...
Me: “I’m right here. It’s okay.”
Her: “I don’t feel well.”
I hand her a brown grocery bag...and shortly after, chunky liquid starts pouring out of her mouth. Some of it misses the bag and drips onto her black tights. It’s a mess. I escort her out of the car and into my bedroom. Pulling off her clothes as she stumbles around. I put them in the wash and tuck her under the sheets. I’m her caretaker for the night.
Downstairs, talking with James Graves and Leisa. Sipping on a Mickey’s. Leisa tells us of an interesting professor-student romance that developed from last semester at her college in Eugene, Oregon.
Anthony picks up around the house attempting to clean up as much as possible.
A broken VHS tape is found and some decide it’d be a good idea to tie themselves up in the VHS plarn...
The house made it into Wikipedia...
[ii]
“Although the biggest part of Virginia Beach’s culture is dedicated to getting LIVE. The epicenter of live activities being 1435 Taureau Ct...aka 1430-live. Robert’s blog documents the events that happen there, a year after they occur.”
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I hear her moving in the bed. Awakened, she mutters crazy things that don’t make sense. It almost sounds like a baby when it’s first learning to speak. It’s quite adorable.
Eating a bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar.
Joining her in slumber around 4 a.m.
...
Around 7 I feel her soft hands on my bare shoulders touching, poking, pining for my attention. I’m in a dreamy daze and don’t respond enough for her liking. She’s more coherent now and little by little she wins me over—she slips off her panties—I know what that means and yes, I’m up for it. It’s the second night in a row that we’ve had sex. I’m okay with that. But where do we go from here? Is this not the same path we walked down many times before? Being intimate with her is enough to make me surrender. . . . . . But I’m supposed to be a man with wisdom. So I’ll think on this...
Back to sleep.
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