not sexual

the last few days have gracefully illustrated the phenomenon i mentioned earlier: glorious moments that must end, and once ended, the disorienting emptiness and the myopia of "is that my life? did that really happen?" perhaps it is because i am existing on 3 hours of sleep. i've spent time with one of my coworkers, someone that i really fucking clicked with, someone who seems to just get it right away. he felt like a friend i'd known for years. we talked until 6 am... or whenever it gets light around here. later today, at the pointless, 'motivating your staff 101'-esque employee meeting, watery bloodshot smiles were exchanged, and that was all. and i left tacoma with fantastic marigold sunlight, listening to the fucking velvet underground whilst mired in dreadful traffic, and i felt very fucking sad.
there is a definite lyricism to pointlessness. walking through the graveyard on queen anne hill under a perfectly full moon. staring up at the radio towers. the bus driver wearing teddy-bear antennae and greeting us with disarming cheer. the vista above salmon beach in tacoma, staring out at the narrows bridge, the beach several hundred perilous feet straight down, the trees sighing. it is nice to be reminded that this is how life can still be, how it is and was, how i want very badly to be back in those moments and revel in the novelty of it all. being back at the stiflingly hot cafe, arms sticking to the grimy counter, indulging my girlish solliloquy, seems a bit more pathetic now.
fuck yes... 'into the mystic' just came on. all right, i take it back; there is beauty and poignance in every facet of every moment. this is a damn fucking good song.
i haven't been this tired in a while.