It's a long and winding road...

...well, maybe not. It's simply Laguna Canyon Road (HWY 133). I'm driving behind a slow Mercedez. I think it drives slowly because the person behind the wheel is drunk and doesn't want to draw attention. Ironically, the line of cars piling behind me does just that. I can't play any music because my battery died two days ago and was replaced by Cardwell last night. I don't know the factory code for the radio so it flashes an error message at me each time I turn it on. My car starts... that's enough for me.

The windows are all down, the sunroof is open. The wind isn't cold because my body is still warm from dancing. I feel the sweat in my hair drying up and my head is the first part of me where the outside temperature touching my skin's surface equalizes. A second lane opens up and I downshift to third, gas, pass and am back into the originally lane again while the cars behind me start to do the same. I think of myself typing all this out into this journal and really the only thing that I think in my head before my thoughts rapidly wander off is the opening line, "I'm driving behind a slow Mercedez."

Home tonight is a place where I want to snuggle. I want to have sex. I want to just sleep. It seems that all my wants are competing and this keeps me awake. It was 2:15am when I got home and now it's 4:45am. I watched an episode of Dark Angel, season two. I've started another one as I'm typing. Sleep... need sleep. Sometime soon I will collapse, or I will stay awake and wonder why I did this to myself when I'm dragging sitting at my desk.

I goto the bathroom. As I turn on the light, I glance at the mirror and see someone. It's me. The body is changing, but the eyes are still the same. I think of all the things that I don't capture to talk about here. I wonder about something that I'm not sure of and typing that out now seems stupid since you won't know what that means--and chances are I won't understand this later on either. With a faint taste of diet Dr. Pepper left in my mouth, me and my boxers sign-off to watch this next episode.

I made out with a boy on the dancefloor tonight. His name was Dustin. I watched him watching me and could see in his eyes that he wasn't attracted to me, but rather the idea in his head of what I was like. My hat on slightly sideways, my dancing--different than the typical Laguna fags. When I felt his body, I could tell that he had been losing weight and was shaping. He looked good. Cute. Innocent--but not. When I made no overt moves back toward him he was off to another boy, or man. It was this sense that kept me guarded... and it is this sense that I feel so much lately.