Sometimes the painkillers make the pain worse.(Day 109)

I'm lazy. I should be writing Chapter Four of the book, but...it's...an effort, haha. Something I just don't have the patience for.

Side note of advice: Always remember kids, if your gonna pop pain killers...make sure you eat first. I mean my God, I can't tell which way is up, which might be fine for writing because lets face it, you write what you know. But that won't work when you're supposed to entertain a guest in a little bit.

Last nights chapter was called 'Rooftops', and it took a long time to write because it's a lot more open and honest than I ever thought I could be with anyone, again. Much less people I'll never know, or something.

But I think the end result was something that I'm more than proud with, and I think as far as it goes, that chapter is going to be the cornerstone of the entire book itself.

Anyway, I need to finish, or even start chapter four. From New York to California in one fell swoop. That's how I do.

Now I'm being a bad host.

So here's a snippet of Chapter 3: Rooftops.

"My roommate and her husband drive me to the airport. I hate every moment of this, but I'm
excited for the future. But I'll be making this journey without my heart. My heart lays in my
past, and the past is where it shall remain for the years to come. In the months to come I'll
come to fully understand the expression, "Just going through the motions." And I'll have a new
appreciation for etymology, one that I have to this very day.

Their talking about going to France for their honeymoon. I can't stand it. Honeymoons. Who the
hell thought of that word, anyways? Why does it always have to be such a big god damned
production? The wedding, the honeymoon, the whole nine yards? What ever happened to eloping?
I can promise you most of the people who eloped lived out the rest of their days in love with
each other, because they didn't need the validation from onlookers. People will watch anything.
People watch car chases, people watch 'Two and a Half Men'. and continue to pay to see Nic Cage
not have any talent. People will watch the remains of a car accident with sick fascination.
People will watch anything. It's just a shame real life doesn't always have a soundtrack; We'd
never put down the popcorn.

It's foggy out, and starting to rain. It's 60 degrees. The roommate and her husband drop me off.
I sit in the rain on a bench. I have a few hours to kill. They say get there two hours early,
but they never mean that. Especially not this early in the morning. No wayfarers care to be
up before the birds. The pilots don't care, their riding high off a bump of coke, and a quick
lay in the cockpit. They'll fly your ass anywhere if the money is right. Especially here in
New York. If the money is right, they'll do anything you want. And God, I could go for a bump
of clean coke for once.

It's always cut too much. You're always picking mounds of baking powder out your nose, and only
getting half a hit. Only half a motivation. Only half a moment of definitive reality. Only
a half cocked gun delivering half a bullet to half a brain with only half the impact resulting
in only half of the desired devastation.

Twenty minutes later, something smacks the side of my head and pulls me out of my trance. I
didn't even notice I was soaking wet. I barely realized I was sloshed. "You know...I've had guys leave in the middle of the
night before. I've had guys leave while I was in the bathroom, too. I've even left under both
of those circumstances, but it's usually the guy. I've even had a guy slip out the window while
I was looking for a shirt. He was four feet away. He didn't even take his shoes. Who does that?
Anyway, what I'm getting at is...I'm used to guys leaving without saying anything. But I've
never had a guy leave without saying anything, and it's own apartment. I mean, that's got to
be some kind of a first."

She sits next to me and bumps her shoulder next to mine. I can't look at her.

"Come on. I know you're leaving, and it's okay. Just give me something of your really quick, I
wanna show you something." I unpack my worn copy of Catcher in the Rye. It's been a bible to
a youth lost on subversion. There is no explanation. I am looking for a faith, or a reason
to have an ounce of understanding. We're all just birds in cages with clipped wings singing
mournfully for the memory of flight.

She puts it in her jacket pocket. "Now you have a reason to come back."

-Until tomorrow.