in my life.

i should really try to write it down. it's been a bit silly in a gloriously young kind of way. i'd like to keep track of it for you, geographically, and with a specifically outlined timeline, but the days have sort of blurred into one. and i'm not sure who i'm supposed to blame that on. summer, the drugs, myself? the blame game.

experienced an intensely terrible identity crisis, sitting in the middle of a muslim wedding. but eventually a nice boy came and sat down with me, and we participated in great degrees of polite small talk until he very blatantly said. "you're bored aren't you?" "what, no, no! this is fun." how horribly transparent could i have possibly been? i don't like to open my mouth in that company. it's amazing, really. i can dazzle a group of like-minded white folk, but the people of my own country will never get to see the levels of my wit. which, i think, is maybe where the anxiety tears bubbled from.

and let's not forget the day of walks, conversation, brie-sandwich's (oh my god), coffee, and bookstores. no, we will never forget that. that is why we do all the other stuff.

yesterday nancy said, "you're so great - if you didn't exist, we would have to invent you."

and well, yeah. the drugs. there's been so much of it. there was late night italian dinners, and being the last table to leave the restaurant. it was there in parks at midnight, in cars, and on the highway as we drove past. it was there behind synagogues, and sitting side by side on a bench, with a pipe. it was there with nancy wilson in the car, at bbqs and burgers. One turned into four, and suddenly i'm stumbling down the mountain, only to re-position myself on a balcony in somebody's apartment on st-catherine. which is dizzyingly close to reality, and yet not. it was there with the four of us, next to the whisky and cigars, one-ish, two, three, later. we arrive at last night. it was there twice in the garden, as i played a round of crochet. and another time as i serenaded our beatles rock band.



but it was most potent, and most awake, as i stumbled home, through the rich-kids mansions, and it was night, it was dark but there was fog, and street lights. and he sped up on his bike, and i said, "bye, get home safe!" and he waved, and i saw his figure pull himself up onto the bike, and he dissolved into a surprising detail in the glowing fog. he became smaller and smaller, but it was there.