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Crash Home

It's 11:14pm and I am up in the loft. Like some Greg Brady millenium b.s. and my expected HG/Food network is blaring softly in the backround. I've recently stepped out of Hollywood, the rancid beautiful sparkling cesspool:

cess·pool

   [ses-pool] Show IPA
–noun
1.
a cistern, well, or pit for retaining the sediment of a drain or for receiving the sewage from a house.
2.
any filthy receptacle or place.
3.
any place of moral filth or immorality: a cesspool of iniquity.
Use cesspool in a Sentence
Origin:
1575–85; cess  (< It cesso  privy < L rÄ“cessus recess, place of retirement) + pool1
 
and back to where I once began with the parents and the manicured yards and stocked fridge and central heating and quiet and time. I await my interview at the place I worked just out of high school and wonder how literal they are when they say full circle. Gratitude? Fuckin' spiritual principles make me want to drink... so I guess they were right. Still doesn't do me a damn thing at 11:21pm on a Tuesday night. Glee, then pee. Wish and dream. Missin' the pool but not so sure this was a mistake. I met a boy named Xander in Target... there are Targets everywhere... heh. Maybe tomorrow I'll fall in love ;) Most likely, I'll watch House Hunters and stay up late.

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