What I want in my bed is slightly to the left of mainstream. What I really actually want is slightly beside the center of the road. It's great to be able to talk about it. Being told how normal I am is a medicine that helps me wake up. I spent years bumbling and fumbling around; tripping over my feet and thinking too hard. It's not a topic for a first date. If a girl isn't more aggressive than me in words or actions, then I will be a pacifist-feminist who feels super gay and forgets what time it is. I will smile and talk and it will not work out. The back of my brain will heat up with statements, and my mouth will spill banalities. Warm air will whisper stories and aspirations that are beside the point. When I hook up properly, I fall in love.
I love West Philadelphia. I love the people here, and I love my big cheap room. I love the soup at the Thai place a couple blocks away, but not as much as Kristin does. When she arrived today there was a small drunken gathering in my kitchen. Hat after hat was being crocheted together, and My Morning Jacket was audible over the chatter and silliness. Craft beers were standing on the table, and Kristin brought what it takes to assemble margaritas. We had some. I convinced this brave girl to stand on the cargo area of the trike as I pedaled out to get King Soup.
This is healthy. This is probably healthy. I could use a warmer blanket.