29 November, 2006

i just called you.
the email i sent last night wasn't exactly how it happened. i see that now. i have a tummy ache and i didn't sleep too well. i spilt wine on the floor last night, but i know i drank most of it. so i don't know why i was being so upset about your nonsensical statements. but i would never audition for porn films. is that a joke? i don't care if me having lived in Hollywood sounds insane to you. it was insane...but still didn't debase myself. maybe i take myself too seriously. but i am fairly consistant in my morality. you should know this by now. i don't think it makes sense to ask girls to marry you who you might think are considering a career as porn stars. okay. enough of talking about that. it is off my chest. my metaphorical chest.

i obviously don't know what I am doing. i can admit that. i am not sure why we are talking like this. i am not sure what you are offering.
but its days like this that i feel silly for the way i have let life turn out, and wonder if i have boxed myself in on a sinking boat.

it snowed last night. everything is covered with a blanket of purity.

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