It's been a while...

I should definitely write more to get things off my chest--especially now that I've been inspired by the beautiful muse sitting directly in front of me at the coffee house, apparently dredging his deepest thoughts from his subconscious to the surface with pen and paper--old school, my kinda guy.  He's probably straight, though.  And we all know how it works out when I attempt to befriend attractive, interesting straight boys.  Disaster.  I should've been born with a vagina.

Meanwhile, I'm waiting on a guy to text me back.  We're supposed to jam tonight.  I'm not sure of his musical abilities or sexual orientation, but apparently he enjoyed my busking one weekend and complimented me when I was buying a sandwich at his place of work.  I didn't recognize him at all, but it felt nice to be known.  I hope I don't get stood up like I have been by the past couple guys who were supposed to jam with me.  Some people are just all talk.  Especially in a college town with an abundance of booze and easy pussy.  It's easy to forgot about things like making music.  I'm not immune to these forces by any means.  Although I definitely want to concentrate on my music and writing instead of continuing to create highly interesting albeit bittersweet new melodramatic chapters for the novel that will probably be published postmortem--around the same time as my 15 minutes of fame that will undoubtedly come entirely too late to be useful in this plane of existence.

Hopefully I'll maintain some sense of memory and consciousness once my body fails me.  Maybe my energy will just go back into the pool and mingle with the energies of every great and not-so-great mind that came before me, and there will be no one to know the difference between the atoms that once belonged to Aristotle and the molecules that made up my dead cat's anus.  So it goes.  Oh, Kurt.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.  Anticipation.  The severe urge to pop another Ativan, even though I need to conserve.  Although if I run out I'm sure Amy will spot me a few.  I don't know how well I'll play under the influence of double my usual dosage if this guy ends up coming through.  Maybe I should wait it out.  At least finish my cup of coffee and send a few more eyefucks towards my fleeting muse in a white v-neck tshirt and skinny jeans.  Goddamned metrosexuals.  I miss the 90s when it was obvious--even if I'm not exactly attracted to the stereotypical faggy type.  But I always get myself into jams with amazing guys who think they are heterosexual.  Fucking societal programming.  It ruins my sex life and makes me look like a creeper faggot.

I probably shouldn't have told Alison to fuck off.  I was developing feelings for her.  It was scary, of course, as I haven't had feelings for something with a vagina since I was a wee lad.  Maybe that's why I subconsciously sabotaged any potential relationship I could have had with her.  Hopefully she and Jake will have great sex with his averaged-sized penis for a 6'11" guy (yeah, right), even if it is without me.  What to do, what to do.

Tomorrow I go into work to find out if I still have a job. My boss never replied to the e-mail I sent him about telling him I quit and walking out Friday afternoon.  Whatever happens, happens.  At least I'll get my income tax refund soon.  That'll be enough money to get me through a couple months of wandering aimlessly around the country again looking for myself or a place to call home or someone to love.  How bohemian.  Not really.

I'm going to go smoke a cigarette now and hope someone talks to me.  Maybe by the time I'm finished, the Quiznos guy will have texted back and I'll be on my way to make some sweet music with an adorable and awkward sandwich maker.  Oh, life.

Cheers.