Monday, March 15, 2004

I found Tony's boxers in my pajama drawer. They're worn and comfortable, but as soon as I slipped them on my stomach churned. I hate how I let myself get dragged into situations which are destined to fall apart. Stupid Tony. Stupid Stephen. Stupid me. Little ego-peddlers: that's all I've ever dated. And then this guy (we'll call him "Mr. E") comes strolling into my life without warning, and he's perfect. Perfectly funny, perfectly beautiful, perfectly sane (a big one). I'm smitten.
I really hope I'm doing the right thing. Mr. E and I have a date on Thursday; I'm thinking picnic at Celestial park. Next Saturday we're having a sleep over. I sure do love sleeping in his arms. It's too bad he doesn't want anything serious. Not to say I want "serious," but the prospect of it sure would be nice.

Sunday night Henry and I have a date. At least I think it's a date. Should be exciting. We're going to Pocket Sandwich theatre to throw popcorn at bad actors. I promised him fun, and I better deliver.


.:dr0wningophelia:. 21:28 | |