Yeah, I missed your call and didn't get home till 12. Then I was tired. Tonight I called you, and you weren't home. Probably at the rock? I'd like to see you, too. Let's hook up. Hah, hah. I'll be home in an hour and I'll call. I'm just here to work on my play a bit. I don't have any ideas. I asked Naomi if the names of my characters sounded believable and she said they sounded "very white". That is helpful feedback, true, but it also deflated me a tad. Maybe I'm oversensitive, maybe not. I'm going to have to change this play all around becuase it's a little too autobiographical and that can get sticky. They say to write what you know. Whatever. Sorry to hear about your phone conversations with home. Doesn't sound exactly uplifting. Don't you wish you could remove yourself from it? Kind of like how I wanted to detangle from Brown. You want to feel like you're just a visitor, popping in and out of it with a phone call or a visit...or maybe you don't, maybe that's just me. All I know is that I was pretty damn annoyed when I realized how attached I am to every little detail that goes on there. All of that STUFF, family stuff and friend stuff and home town stuff -- they make you up. Does that bug you? It bugs me, a little. Makes me think I won't be living on some tropical island in 15 years, sipping mixed drinks and writing short stories. I'll be right where I always was. But you know what? You're the second person I met here who is real in a certain way that only some people here are real. Know what I'm talking about? It's an awareness and a sensitivity that is pretty rare. That's cool. It's important. Still doesn't make all the shit any easier to deal with, though, I'll admit.
Well, until later, keep being, sweet bug.