Visitors.
Mental Exhaust...
Andrea and Camille visited. A few of my best friends (that of which, include more than just these two girls). Andrea was here for two weeks, and Camille just one, overlapped by Andrea's two.
All I really have to say is there wasn't enough time with either of them. Not enough money. Just not enough of anything. Such a strange experience. I'd been looking forward to it for months, and they finally came, and yet, while they were here, it felt like nothing was accomplished. I put so much imagination into their visits that I didn't account for the reality of it. Money gets spent. Energies get spent. Time gets spent. It really doesn't help that Camille is a mutual friend to another Portland resident. That cuts time in half. And energy. But I got to see her. Just not nearly enough.
Reality. Hmph. Reality is a fucking clock. The kind that reminds you there is a limit to good time. And the kind that allows the bad time to exist.
Nostalgic moments revisited when you're trying to start a new life is fucked up. I love too much. The act of loving has exceeded my patience. I'm getting old.
Andrea and Camille visited. A few of my best friends (that of which, include more than just these two girls). Andrea was here for two weeks, and Camille just one, overlapped by Andrea's two.
All I really have to say is there wasn't enough time with either of them. Not enough money. Just not enough of anything. Such a strange experience. I'd been looking forward to it for months, and they finally came, and yet, while they were here, it felt like nothing was accomplished. I put so much imagination into their visits that I didn't account for the reality of it. Money gets spent. Energies get spent. Time gets spent. It really doesn't help that Camille is a mutual friend to another Portland resident. That cuts time in half. And energy. But I got to see her. Just not nearly enough.
Reality. Hmph. Reality is a fucking clock. The kind that reminds you there is a limit to good time. And the kind that allows the bad time to exist.
Nostalgic moments revisited when you're trying to start a new life is fucked up. I love too much. The act of loving has exceeded my patience. I'm getting old.