Thursday, October 22, 2009

This was a letter.....

I have the pork thing, the one you had such a clever name for.... PorkFlu, Porkchop Fever! I can't remember. It has my head in a Vice, sort of a confused haze. I need to rest up and get over it as quickly as possible, but Rest just gives me too much time to reflect, and wallow in misery. I can almost smell it. Does the Swine flu have a smell?

I'm watching 'To Gillian on her 37th birthday.' It seems ok, but all I can think of is that I was 20 something when it came out, and has Michelle Pfeiffer in it, and apparently she is 37, looking good but reminds me of how old I am.... "Am I that old" "Am I old enough to be a professor and live on a beach, to have had a wonderful wife die, and have a 16 year old daughter." And yet here I sit, wallowing in what it is to be me. Anyways, who can live up to these Hollywood fantasies?

Struggling with fantasies I guess. This is going to sound strange, but I just want to exist. Just want to ... be there and be a person, have a life like everyone else. But it seems like that is the fantasy, that I am what I am, Where I am. It's best probably to just let it all be.

Just keep fighting and let it all be, I guess.

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