i am back in the city. i feel like an alien. the apartment is exactly the same. my life isn't.

i think i had literally the best night of my life last night. it wasn't always perfect, but it was about as close as i come to it. i mean, shit, i looked through a shitload of Imogen Cunningham and Edward Weston photos at Mills with Ellen and her mum. Then I picked Dexter up. And fuck.... fuck.... fuck... i fell. I fell.... i fell. i've fallen. in

yes.

We went to Indian Rock. We watched Wonder Boys. We did something spectacular. We we we we we. That word comes so much easier to my lips than I. WE went to the Lawrence Hall of Science. WE watched the bay. WE held each other for days minutes years fucking eons. It felt amazing.

And then I left.

And here I am. And I feel empty. And my apartment is a mess. And I need to finish doing my dishes. I left them a month ago. They are gross. I am gross.

And I go to the post office, demain, to get my bills. Lots and lots and lots of overdue bills. Don't want to go. Might wait until Saturday. My brain hurts.

I'm ready to explode, please.

I'm ready for that picnic, Dexter. I'm ready. To be on that hill, with that sheet. And you are wearing you Cal Poly sweatshirt that is hot, and your black cords. And your Converse. And I'm wearing the shirt you think is hot, the one I wore today. And we are eating your favorite food. And drinking steamed milk with vanilla. And it's all going down.

Oh, and there's a boombox, playing Simon and Garfunkel.