Say goodbye to France for me

First of all, I would like to say: Fuck. Yes, f-u-c-k. Fuck cancer, fuck my liver and fuck my lungs. Fuck my colon (not literally, si vous plais) and my kidneys. Fuck drinking and fuck smoking. Fuck akward fist fights, bruises and broken bones. Fuck drunk driving, fuck seatbelts and fuck bumpy roads. Fuck uptight conservatives and fuck whiny liberals. Fuck macho homophobes and annoying flamboyant gay men. Fuck racists and fuck people who live up to there comedic stereo type. Fuck hypocritical activist/philanthropists and fuck hypocritical nihilists. Fuck shallow chic and fuck messy slobs. Fuck ikea, fuck bed bath and beyond. Fuck hopeful teenagers and fuck bitter middle-agers.

But most importantly, fuck me. Who is all of the above and neither.

That said, I shall write about current events with less gratuitous cussing. SHIT FUCK!

I thought about writing a letter to maria right now. But it would be just another letter unanswered letter. So I'll write about it here. I thought about telling her the wierd dream I had last night in which we where touring France by skipping trains and stealing wine along the way. I wanted to tel her how at the party I went tonite i was introduced as, "the guy who has a soulmate in belgium", swear to god, I was introduced that way. I wanted to write about how she would have probably had fun at this party since when we were drunk we started reading eachother passages of naked lunch over cigarettes and whisky. I wanted to tell her how now I am known amongst the people here as the drinker, or the alcoholic. I wanted to say that I do not say much in my defensive and I am ashamedly proud of this title. I wanted to say that I miss her, but since I say that in every letter I write to her it might seem needy. She already knows this, so I probably would have written it anyway. When I would have sent the letter I would have felt ashamed or embarrased somewhat because For the last week I have been writing her a letter at least every day, at least in my mind. I would start thinking of how I rehearse what I want to write in each letter during my day. When something interesting happens I say to myself "Hey, this is something I can include in the letter." I start thinking of how when I write these type of things a strong, charming and enthusiastic narrator starts talking in my head as I type the words. I then imagine this narrator as a voice over in a scene of a WWII drama in which the dead soldier writes letters to his sweetheart back home and she reads them on the beach looking out to the sea, hoping the young man eventually comes back from the great war. I think of Il Postino. I think of how bashful and teenage this all is but then i reflect and think that this is how it has always been with Maria, because we've known each other only as teenagers. I want to tell Maria that I am carefully selecting songs to make a very good playlist when she comes back. I think to myself how creepy and clingy this is. I think to myself, "Maybe I am just idealizing this woman because she is far away and I can turn her into this mystic awesome figure". But then I think "Nah, Maria has always been an Awesome mystic figure to me...."

P.S.- I am still as creepy, clingy and needy as when you left.

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