I'd rather draw elephants

I'm getting older. When I got to keg parties I'm capable of drinking only four beers and waiting for people to seek me out for conversation. It's a strange contentment to be able to sit on the outskirts of a party without the need to penetrate the circles.

There was also confirmation that where I am is the place where I ought to be. That my love is as love ought to be. And that I have not lost anything.

There was also sorrow when said confirmation came in the form of comparison. Comparison to how it ought to not be. Comparison to someone I love too much to see her hurt.

Three weeks from today and I'll be in South Carolina.

Last night I sat up reading the published paper JM wrote, and upon which our current project is based, and was pleasantly pleased to consider it a "page turner."

Pleased because my dissertation will no doubt spurn from this.

Last night at around three a.m. as I sat outside my apartment smoking a cigarette, this man pulled into the porn shop and ground his front bumper against the curb as he parked.

When he got out of the car he looked right up at me and said, "oops".

Then he proceeded to ask me how I was doing, and what I was doing up so late.

::pervert::

I just told him I was smoking. Like a little brat. But why would I really want to talk to him? Men at the porn shop never acknowledge me because they're generally in this very privat-personal-space mind-set. When you're on a mission to jerk-off in a video booth you generally don't strike up conversations.

Most of them don't.

And if they do then it instantly feels very, very gross.