hmmm.
i'm also messed up because he's gone.
to barcelona. for 11 days. no big deal. right?
RIGHT. WRONG. MOPE.
the bastard. walking in and out of my existence like that.
i'm going to be very stoic.
to hell with him. with men.
someone asked me out last weekend, and then insisted that i
go with him to his fucking farmhouse in fucking alibag.
and then gill says cos i seem like someone who doesn't care
about the rules. or anything. like i can do whatever. mostly.
but not with some rich fuck at his effing farmhouse in alibag.
i have standards.
and i like being asked.

so he said barcelona on sunday. and i thought
you're leaving me.
of course, of course he said before he told me he did
that he'll go on the 9th, so why did i gasp and think
you're leaving me.
he's not with me to be leaving him.
shitshitshit.
i'm moping. MOPING. in capitals.
why does he have to mess with me?

i'm going to be stoic.
very much so.
and i'll try not to talk about him to
random strangers.
which i did today. oh what a fool i am.

if you're in bangalore, you must go to Koshys.
if i were in barcelona i'd be with him.

que sera.
sera.

shitfuckpiss.

2:59 on the clock. computers are good and easy because you can always tell the time - even if it is the wrong time. if it's the wrong time, it can be philosophically argued if it even matters - because, think about it, you don't know which of the thousands of alternate realities you're living in, at any given moment.

of course, all that's bullshit when you're late for somewhere or something. of course you stop believing in that when you run into the same people in all the realities. shouldn't there be hippies and aliens and elvis at some point? because, in an alternate universe, elvis should be alive, we should all wear tie-and-die and be spreading love and Moulder and Scully should be busy making little alien babies.

The question of Are We Alone should be answered, no? it should be pretty obvious that we are.