her not being the girl. her being a friend i went to high school with and who, by way of life, lives here now too.

we've hooked back up and im regretting like a mofo not having known her better those other four years.

shes a damn funny kid.

and now, now the combo of her and her bed and her stuffed toys (rex. he was in a wreck. and baby.) just feel good.

and its not like i enter and say hi and fall straight to sleep.

nope. we laugh, we talk, we eat, we watch tv. and along the way im hit just right with the low key tones and the raspberry smell and the feel of a rex pulled from her and curled in my arm and my eyelids droop.

and she lets me sleep.

im beginning to, more and more, cherish those people, those places, those moments of hey, i can just let go here.

i have another job.

not by choice. but i need the thousand. so i must work until i get the thousand. somehow.

somehow somehow somehow.

and, also, news im slowly revealing: the paper is looking for staff writers, or the sort. im thinking of checking it out.

i cant keep my days straight anymore. i keep thinking today is thursday.

there are only two times i truly like my hands. one being when they type. when they fly over the keyboard hitting the letters, yeah, i think then that perhaps perhaps when it ends, when the last period is struck, that ill walk away with these capable nimble musicians hands.

but i dont.

only when i type.

and the only other time is when my fingertips can feel skin.

the other day i was walking out of a building and this girl i met once, a month or so ago, was walking in with her boyfriend, i step aside and hold the door open for them just because im all damn polite you mofo and i turn around to continue on my way when i hear her say "see what i told you? mumblemumblemumble is sweet."

now i didnt get the mumble part, but the is sweet only leads me to believe she is, of course, talking about me.

because i am, after all, exceedingly humble.

humble to a fault.