Santa Claus

It's cold.
Yesterday was spent recovering from hangovers. A lot of them. I laugh at myself, at the ridiculousness I create every damn second and none of it's intended to be funny. Coffee, cigarettes (ineffective recovery methods but ritual nonetheless) and I'm off on my way to do something else somewhere but not there. On a mission, I say, so I can leave without feeling too guilty that I probably won't get to the things I intended to. I'm consumed with thoughts of now, of yesterday, and tomorrow seems so damn hard when today's already dying alone. The ones I wished to share it with are preoccupied.
My preoccupation is them.
Theirs is other people, places, things. So busy. So involved.
The internet. Saw a picture of a future girlfriend to someone out there. It wasn't me.
See how this doesn't work?
I think I need to get a dog (strike that) I think I want to get a dog.
I put too much faith in some, not enough in others, and I'm disappointed all the time by behavior of those so newly placed on my good list.
Santa Claus, Santa Claus, Santa Claus had the right idea.
Always check it twice (spell check Santa, too).
Can I be a word inventor? I mean, is that possible? I invented a lot of them last night being a blithering idiot, recovering from information, from sentiment that left me speechless. I plug my ears; sing la la la, everybody! It won't hurt if I can't hear it.

(Santa Claus isn't real)

Fell into disbelief of love and those little things that won't work in the long run, it seems, because right now it's already tainted. I am shaking my head at myself, preventing my vision from focusing on the reality I thought I constructed pretty damn well. Theme songs, names that don't matter, creatures I've yet to identify, pictures of faces – they're all stuck in this wheel, the man keeps turning it and pulling out letters, numbers, calling them out to the crowd to see if anyone's really listening.
B-I-N-G-O.
I want to find the one that's listening.

Sarasota Short Story: Bry(i)ans

Went to play pool somewhere, location is irrelevant I guess. Was unsuspecting walking in, but that soon ended when one of the 267 "Bry(i)ans" I've met in life came up to hug me. I didn't recall knowing this particular Bry(i)an and had no desire to make him more familiar to me. My non-Bry(i)an friend pretended to be my boyfriend to prevent said familiarity. I loudly called him dear, as if this well-calculated plan would somehow make my life easier.

Met "Will." Will was with his ladyfriend. She was never introduced but I refrained from labeling staggering Will as poor-mannered. I'd give him a chance to right his wrongs.

"See that woman over there? I love her, but she drives me crazy sometimes. Ask her something she doesn't know. I can't ask her anything she doesn't know."

I'm not much help in these situations.
Will, however, was of very much help to me.

"The ball is like a bull. Wherever you hit it, that's the way it's gonna charge. You gotta take slices of the angles, you see, like swiss cheese. Slice slice slice slice slice tiny little slices of the angle, offer the cheese to your opponent. Don't rush it. Just like swiss cheese."

Ladyfriend is sitting at her table, smirking. I am sitting as well, trying not to lock eyes or stare at Will's earring. It is very gold. His eyes are very red.