I keep having the
reoccurring thought that my explorations are not worthwhile. The female body
has the wherewithal to attract me, but I find myself ever distracted by their
constant dabbling in topics which are of no interest to me. I shall continue my
search but I grow quite discouraged. While hope still remains, I feel this
journal may be the last of it. Perhaps recording my thoughts and failures will
allow for future reflections wherein I may extract revelations, at least, one
can only hope.
To-day was another
failure in a line of many. While the pervasive possibility exists for the potential
productivity of recounting all failures before that which happened to-day, I do
believe for the sake of my own time and sanity I shall omit them. A few days
back I happened upon an old friend from my youth in academia, Deandra, or “Dee”
as she now prefers to be called (the childish abbreviation as a young adult
perplexes me). We had agreed to dine together for lunch as I was in a hurry to
get to labors. This lunch, which occurred approximately eight hours prior to
my recordings, was a moment of great anticipation and anxiety for me, for
Deandra, nay, Dee had grown into a
stunning figure. By the sun’s rise this
morning I had my fill of dark roast coffee and worry. It was a mere four hours
until my appointment with her and I hadn’t the slightest idea of what I should
wear or how I should act. I had the strange sensation like that of one of
Dali’s clocks. Although the hours had passed, I cannot now recall a moment
between preparing for the meeting and having arrived already.
When Deandra entered
the dining hall she was elegantly dressed, but not overly so for the occasion.
I suddenly became aware of a sore on the roof of my mouth which proved to be
quite distracting. I stood up to notify her of my location. I attempted a smile
but was busy tonguing (that word looks most bizarre in print) the sore in my
mouth. I knew that the act would only worsen the sore, but I could not keep
myself from doing it.
“Hey Charlie!” she
greeted me like the squeaking of a mouse’s sneaker on a freshly cleaned
gymnasium floor. Apparently her juvenile name game had carried over to her
acquaintances as well.
“Hellu-” My attempt
at a proper hello was thwarted due to a preoccupation of my tongue with the
sore. It had refused to move from the spot, as if it were stuck there. As we
sat I noticed a significant build up of saliva in my mouth and washed it down
with some iced water, which my good waiter made sure was ever full. I began to
wonder how the sore had gotten there and if it would ever go away now that my
tongue had found its new best friend. It was frightful to think of. I took an
ice-cube to suck on in attempts to calm the sore, but my tongue grew far too
cold and I crushed the ice between my molars.
“I didn’t want to
have lunch so you could stare at my tits all day Charlie. God you haven’t
changed at all.” She shook her head and was off. The waiter refilled my iced
water, for the cube I removed lowered the level. A fresh one slid in from his
pitcher and splashed water over the edge onto the glass table top. I was aware of my
sore again and attempted yet another ice-cube.
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