Bars...

I used to walk into a bar or a party and think “My future girlfriend might be in here.” I don’t think that anymore.

Sometimes it scares me thinking about all the weird shit I’m into and how I’ll never be able to share it with anyone. Not just some of it, all of it. That sinking realization that there is no Right Woman; my tastes have become too insane and specific. With each passing year and its attendant accrual of idiosyncrasies and experiences, the chances of finding a match become more and more remote.

Sometimes I care, sometimes I don’t. I think these days I mostly just want the physical stuff. It’s so easy to understand, easy to see where you are and the feedback is immediate. Best of all it involves a minimum of talking.

My patience for bullshit has gone way, way down. I look back at some of the bullshit ex-girlfriends have put me through and I wonder what the fuck I was ever thinking. I wonder how I could have let some of these people trick me and/or completely waste my time. I’m ashamed at my own complicity.

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Whenever I start feeling bad for no reason, I tell myself it’s just chemical. An unlucky combination of ingredients stemming from having eaten the wrong foods or maintaining improper levels of sleep, endorphins, caffeine or nicotine. That tomorrow I will wake up and feel good and hear a fucking funny joke or read something interesting, or take a picture I like, or go into a bar with the proper level of expectations.

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Today was a long day, but tonight was a good night. I went into a bar with the proper level of expectations, and they were exceeded.

I’d like tomorrow to be a short day, but you cannot specify with these things. It would be nice if you could order days like catalog items. If you could do so my tomorrow would be short, productive and filled with much sleep.

My head hurts. It’s either the gin or the lack of sleep. Either way I am going to remedy the situation by lying prone until my breathing becomes even, my eyes close and my consciousness goes away.

I have this theory that when sleeping my consciousness doesn’t actually go away, it’s simply transferred to a person who’s just waking up on the other side of the planet. Then when they go to sleep I get it back. But I can’t decide if it’s the same person or a different person every day. Or if it’s a dude or a chick, young or old, good or evil. I’d put up a poll but I can barely keep my eyes open. Talk to you later.