Days pass by and theres no work, nothing to keep occupied. Things drag, time is wasted. I see my empty, pale green bowl on the table every morning, flash, again. Repeat and theres milk and cereal left in the bottom, the spoon hangs from the side. Mornings roll over and the room is stained red, sunlight filtering through the curtains. This room is never clean, Im living here, where else can I go? I want more action, so my answer is dancing and sex on weekends. A quick fix is porn. This is a cheaper drug.
Im searching and searching and searching but then I start to think. This dangerous thing. The one I really want to be with wont be found in the pubs and clubs and sites. Hes going to hit me out of the blue from behind when Im least expecting it.
With the dragging days my morale dips lower. This foreign country is not so different, yet different enough. The equilibrium swings between love and hate, although its becoming less with time. The continuous grey of the rain clouds and windstorms doesnt help, either.
Im excited for a date tomorrow, but will it be just another passing phase? I want to know him and laugh and be with him and talk politics and history and music and languages. With luck, hell have a personality. With no luck, Ill be stuck making cheap conversation in a trendy restaurant in Amsterdam. With luck hell come back to my place, after my weak attempt to offer a movie-night from my collection of 4 DVDs. With no luck hell pretend to smile, thank me for the night, go back to his place by train and never talk to me again. Block and delete. Breathe deeply now, and try not to think about it. Pull out the designer underwear and acid-washed jeans for tomorrow. 6pm at Amsterdam Central.
