Plathological

Every point is infinity? this is a minor technicality. i mean equation.

At one point last night during the beach jam, I pranced over rocks and white driftwood to squat behind the designated peeing log, only to realize, mid-pee, that I was urinating while a woman, a cove away, had a miner’s light on her head, shinning it right on me. Ok. Whatever, baby shine a light on me. I finish doing what I'm doing and zip up my pants and kind of start to wonder what the fuck then prance back to my mickey of rum which is still safely held between Steph’s thigh’s of steel, awaiting my prancy return. M says, Good thing you’re not Pee Shy and I think about this for a second before realizing you learn something new about yourself everyday, and that that was without a doubt one of those moments of acute self discovery. The cove to our left housed a rave. Are they Actually Ravers?, I asked B, disturbed. No. There wasn't a stick of glowing neon on any of them, he said. People imitating ravers who imitate what it’s like to be the biggest loser ever? Holy fuckshit. Amazing. Then I requested an Elliot Smith song for like the tenth time (by then it had become drunken habit. don't ask why--it was supposed to quell something. like loneliness) even though they're like Yeah, we're surprised. We're telling you WE'RE SURPRISED but we don't know any [[bitch shut up]] we're trying to please her majesty over here and you're too busy peeing with coal miners to even pay attention. Or something like that. Anyway, I got home. Somehow/through much cliff action. I got home, listened to my messages and accidentally deleted Xavier's message when he was like two sentences into talking and I still don’t know how. I have never accidentally deleted a message in my life until that moment so it really sucks that it had to be his, especially since I was falling down drunk and really, really damn happy to hear his voice after I had stuffed myself with way too much Slovakian pita out of a grocery bag while walking back. Loose crumbs and bruised knees everywhere. I was like beaten crumb lady. I fell asleep naked, after a long talk with Clarke that only served to make my sexual frustration about 597000 times worse because halfway into the talking I snapped back to sober reality and noticed I was in a "conversation" (Now. Please remind me: who called . . . . . .WHOM, over here? That person has no manners at all. Shame. God. It's way too late to be Calling People. not a one manner . . . &tc. I trudged on, questioning the nether forces of reality I had propelled myself into) with someone I needed to promptly whore myself out to (is how I felt). Now, that just sucked. gosh. wow. take that, szpakattack.