That Fateful Day...

It's humid today. I'm on a bench on Riverside, one eye on the skinny-necked pigeons that I dread. Singing to myself (a dreadfully slow "Over the Rainbow" recorded a few weeks ago) seeming to be in sync with the dragging of everything lately. My shirt matches the trees and this peeling bench and the chunk of green calcite around my neck.

A breeze at last.

VJ and I had lunch earlier. Now she's at Scott Jay getting her hair cut and waiting for me to finish my voice lesson (which doesn't start for another 20 minutes).

*******************

Ok.

Much later and in Cheers. IrishBird just gave me a big greeting... kisses and lots of attention. I wonder if it's weird to be here drinking alone on a Wednesday. The last day I did this was a few weeks ago when Tampa Bay won the Stanley Cup. I'm just back from dinner at NiS and Sarah's. Being up by the Medical School was strange... it was all still there... even Coogan's. Except there was a big "Washington Mutual" where the corner bodega used to be. I couldn't even remember the name of Fort Washington. Haven? Haven Hall? Was that the name of the dorm there?

Why do I miss that time so much? Why did AIR7 have to turn out to be such an asshole? Why can't I call B on a night like tonight? He's supposed to love me-- to protect me from all of my feelings. He's supposed to be my friend. Where is Paul Newman?

I'm sitting here drinking alone and tyring to look alluring. Hell...I'll settle for a "Paul Kramer."

Sometimes I think about when AIR7 said that he HATED OldChoirMan. I knew that he loved me then. He loved me because he wanted to protect me.

I had a dream about OldChoirMan the other day-- about kissing him and about how soft his flesh felt. Eww... I remember that about him-- his flesh-- his cheeks and lips were soft with age and cold. And his fingers were pudgy and wandered along my back. And AIR7 hated him like a lion, but later was so cruel to me.

But, it all felt fresh being up there on 168th. I hope I didn't freak out NiS and Sarah tonight.

Is it wrong to admit how good alcohol makes me feel and that I can't stop myself once I start drinking? Is that in bad form to say? Did I talk too much about Brando?

I feel so desperately alone fight now-- like in that nightclub in the middle of the farm fields in France. God, I was so young then! I remember meeting that guy and being afraid and slightly horrified-- not even sure of how to talk to him! How old was I then? 16: How much changed just three years later!

God, I miss B! I want him to come into this bar and hug me and kiss my cheeks and cuddle me and put me to bed. I at least want someone to talk to.

I better not drink too much tonight, though.

I sense my handwriting beginning to blur. I wonder how much longer it will hold up.

It's 12:10 AM. IrishBird just looked at me.

I wonder what she's thinking...