I know the guy on the right opposite us. The guy on my left hugs the guy on the right opposite us calmly and confident, with a maneuver wherein both pull in their handshake to create a manly hug, a togetherness solid and brief. I move in on guy left opposite us as guy on my left embraces righty. They are on a step higher than us. Righty is tall. Probably, I'm not used to hugging lefty, so I opt for a routine, but warm, handshake; but the handshake comes as my lefty and tall righty hug it out like reformed felons. As we switch off in the cat's cradle tag team, dumbass brain decides to think but body ain't listening. It's time, here goes, here I come, righty, but my lefty knows righty well and I comparatively know handshake lefty far more comfortably than righty, who has spent time being tall. In that regard, me and lefty are more on the same plain—handshake lefty, who is one step above me, not my lefty, who relates better to righty. As me and righty go at it in the rubber band squared circle, the hand's out from my end, which would have been consistent—but would it be questioned? What? Lefty just hugged tall righty, how will it look just handshaking him—but I don't know him, a decade plus, way more than a term, I better go full circle into righty to be like my lefty and his righty, no need for a strained dynamic this early in the—but I only handshaked the one I know better, what's he, lefty opposite me friendly gonna think? Full term righty is cool with my hand, yet our clasp feels weak and him so distant, he don't know, oh how could he, what's my intention—I do it, I go in. But he's standing there, limp...I'm wrapped around his stomach lining. The moment lasted forever, waiting, waiting for him to realize I'm treehugging him. My love, I'm listening to your heart beat.
Do you think this one sucks? I kind of do, too. I woke up at 7am. Had two cups of coffee. Dreams of a common nature woke me a few times during the night. Sometimes I'd have a small bowl of cereal, or a smoke, then back to the couch In front of the tv, where I like to sleep. I had a busy day. In the morning, we participated in a feed the homeless event a girl we knew organized, and I was proud of her, though the field route could have been better organized, but I wasn't there to question them. In the midst of making the lunches, my mind started talking to me, providing evidence, while I tried to remember to remind me it's just coffee and sleep. There's a helicopter. Who's on his ear-phone? Why's he looking at me like that—does lefty know he's in here? In the morning, I asked to be divorced from fear and self-pity, and general self-absorption in favor of others. We walked around skid row in a group among all the trash and food on the ground; there was a young blond girl walking around; some people would say good things, some were offended and some would ramble. Many needed water and asked for our jackets. Someone in our group decided to take action shots of us. I looked to spot transactions. There was a church group, and another group, who were stationary on a corner, and I was just thinking about myself. They weren't on the corner; they were actually behind a table in the middle of a block but corner sounded easier to describe. I had to pee a lot because of coffee and extra water I had to control my appetite. I was worn out by evening from fear, walking, and driving; I wanted desperately to check on my dogs. I planned to restrict my day's food intake to balance out the previous night's sweets, straight-up fudge cake, snacks, and the late night cereal. But I felt my mental health needed food. I had a little protein powder with my water before the morning event. I stopped by a gas station, where someone needed to buy chewing tobacco, and I bought a turkey and cheddar sandwich. It sounds fancy, but it's just turkey and cheese. A little hershey's, a diet coke, and we're looking at 500 tops of caloric intake for the day. I needed some peace and quiet in the evening—I didn't even reach for my pageview machine or worry about recycled material—but my dogs were too excited to see me to let me sleep for more than 10 to 15 minutes. I said bye to my parents to go meet someone and thought I could take a small bite of some cheesecake in the fridge I had previously resisted. Each slice was 350 calories, which was enough reason for me to close the fridge the time before and feel good about myself. I felt good about myself, I had room for a couple small relaxed meals the rest of the night. One slice was half gone. There was an assortment of flavored cheesecake. I could just stick to that little half at most. I put the tray on the counter and grabbed a fork standing over it for a quick bite. By the four and a halfth slice I was afraid to stop, standing there, and was by now playing with the remnants of the last half of a slice. I had eaten all my parents' cheesecake, digging into the last bottom crust, by now sick of the creamy part. I couldn't understand how it happened again. I went to a meeting and hated everyone there. It was one of those cheesy hometown meetings—there was actually lots of cake—Beatles-loving beatnik goatees. NA would be too hardcore for them, but they got the black speaker so they can all laugh really loud and be seen laughing. Hopefully she says something sassy. They couldn't get one from south-central, I sat snickering. Old people have the nastiest cliques. I didn't care what I thought was true or not... 1800 in cheesecake. I had all the girls who didn't check me out figured out. Could've had a Whopper—they're the animals, not me. I was no longer worried about doomsday. My problem is gratitude, I heard a voice—oh, shut up! I had to go drink lots of water.
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