Christmas is Fine, but I'm Too Old for This

The kids in the coffee shop don't look at me because I'm an older person. Surely I must be uninterested in them.

Truth: I love younger boys.

I just want to bounce them on my knee.

So now I get to go back to New York on Monday and saunter up into Times Square for New Year's Eve.

It would not be impossible for me to sleep for days on end. I slept for twelve or thirteen hours last night and could fall asleep now -- five hours later.

People I don't know read my journal, sign my guestbook, and I'm confused.

Strangers see value.

But at point-blank range I'm too old.

Christmas was good.

I don't see what the big deal is for people who hate it: really, what's the big deal?

I must go now, and figure out what my life is going to be like as the gypsy I have become.