traffic

It's 6 o'clock in the morning. I'm stressed out and I can't sleep. It's your turn to write, of course, but I have finally accepted the fact that ours is not a perfect relationship after all. Compromises and sacrifices must be made. You probably went to your "village" to vote and never came back. Or are you rehearsing for your appearance on Super Idol? Maybe you made it to Santorini with your sweetheart for two days of sulfurous sex. It's that time of year for clandestine affairs, isn't it?

It was 6 six years ago this month that I met the man who would set me on the course my life is now following. At the time there were other men. Do you remember all those jerks from firefly? Would you believe I met and had sex with three of them? Richard would have loved to make it four, but I did have some standards, even then. There were so many betrayals. Everyday, even now, I betray myself and my one true love. But objects in motion tend to stay in motion, or at least, that's what they teach us in school.

Kinesis. I knew so much Greek before I knew I knew Greek. I love this language. It's like the matrix. I imagine that it helps me get into your head, to perceive something about the way you think. It's all so simple and wonderfully complex. I used to cry every day, trying to understand or worse, reproduce, the simplest sentences. I used to stay up all night repeating to myself "forema, foremata." I loved, I still love, how the tone shifts. That kind of thing just doesn't exist in English. The other thing I love is diminutives. I love Kyria Vefa and her syntagoules, ntomatoules, piperitses, kremidakia. She's the best. And she knows it. She should also know that a little humility goes a long way.

It's 7 o'clock. An hour has come and gone, and I don't like what I've written. It's dizzying to circle so steadily around something and still not really approach it.

xo

Everybody's tough on me; so, why shouldn't you be too? I can't run and I surely can't hide; it's not the math, it's not (my) english, it's just me: there are tons of excuses and I hate to use any of them. There's shit in the workplace, there's shit in da house, there's shit inside my clever-looking head (oh, these elusive eyez, they say). You must be one of the possibly three who can read me so well, perhaps because, after all, it's moira that rulez our lives, not coincidence. What difference does it make? There is no sweetheart, never has been, you know that. It's been a constant fall ever since when, ever since anyway. I need to use some "ghosts" to hang on to, but they shouldnt be too real I guess or they will fall with me, I fear.

It's fear and it doesnt matter if you're blond or if the sex was good. It matters if you think it could have been better.



yeah, i would hug you, i would: but