After a morning where I wasn't able to sleep and instead drunk deep the sunrise from the rooftop (in Italy, watching the sunrise? I should eat a cliche sandwich), I've found few jobs and even fewer companions. Yes, it's true. I'm in the city of romance and even if this (self-professed) hopeless/hopeful romantic tore off his clothes and sung in the street amidst flower petals and tourist flashbulbs, it still wouldn't provide a warm body in the bed at night. Yes, I'm lonely. It's a large place out here and it's made larger by the fact that, please, I want someone to write about! Can I just have someone's hair to play with idly? Someone do to favors for? Deliver flowers? I feel as though I've failed. I should have been in love weeks ago. Cupid must be in traffic in LA or drunk in a bar, slinging his arrows or eros into random drunkards who suddenly look at the nearest woman/an with sleepy, watery gazes and words that are so slurred that, technically, it's allll one word, a jumble of mostly vowels.
Regardless, while everyone is certainly entitled to their own private quota of orgasmic input (in fact, it should be an RDA qualifier), some of us just aren't getting enough. Maybe I'm getting emaciated because I can't have, from time to time, one blood-rushing toe-curling orgasm with someone else (myself as a partner? At this point, I find it predictable and redudant, like a lover you've grown tired of. Then again, I also never say no). Do I need to have someone shed clothes and snuggle naked into bed with me? I'd sell various parts of my body (with the notable exception, in this circumstance, of some obvious kepers) to have that!
But aye, the doe-eyed italian girls don't give me the time of day. I have a watch so that's not a terribly important problem, but while the marzipam of a sun melts down to a drizzle at the end of each day, I'm left with my reflection, and trust me, it's not pretty.
In other news, this entry is so pretentious that it just wrote a thesis on itself. This entry is also having a Fat Day, so be nice.
Mister Jared