Last week I went in to Boston to shoot some pictures, but first I stopped at Burrito Max because it's been a while since I've had a burrito fix. I learned a valuable lesson: don't scarf down a burrito and expect to be productive afterwards.
I headed into the subway and made it to Park Street. While waiting for the red line, I started to feel a little comotion in my stomach. I figured it would pass and went around in circles trying to walk it off. But as I was standing, the feeling wasn't going away, and my alimentary canal started waking up. I briskly walked back up to the green line. Sitting on the green line heading back to Kenmore, I could actually feel my butt sweating. Squirming in my seat trying to hold everything in, I couldn't even wait to get to Kenmore -- I bounded off the train at Hynes and powerwalked back to Kenmore.
As I got closer to Burrito Max, my colon, which seems to be connected directly to my eyes, began choogling even more. My powerwalk turned into a sprint. I slowed down before reaching the door so as not to look like a silly person and calmly made my way to the loo. Because of that whole eye-to-rectum connection, the sight of the toliet quickened my bowel movements to the point where I was scrambling to detach all my camera stuff and belt buckles and zippers.
Finally, I let er rip almost before I was able to sit down. Ahhhh....relief.
I came thisclose to pooping in my pants. If it wasn't for my superior skills in bodily function withholding, I would've made a mess somewhere around Copley.
Feeling uneasy after that ordeal, I just drove home. I didn't want to risk another potential disaster.
All I have to show for that day is one lousy picture:
I had several nightmares last night. I think eating a cheese sandwich just before bed must've caused it. I don't remember most of the dreams, but I know in one I was lost in a creepy house with a group of people that I knew (but I don't know who they are in real life). In another, I was with some unidentified girl in a store, and suddenly she disappeared. I must've spent 20 minutes (in dream time) looking for her. not exactly scary, but sad.
I think I'm missing what is so great about Clerks. I don't think I've seen the entire movie because every time I notice it while flipping through the channels, the acting is so lousy that it doesn't hold my attention. *shrug*
I feel much better than earlier, though still not quite right. I need to figure out what's going on upstairs.
And, yeah, I guess I worry too much. Maybe everything will be fine.
At this point, I can't tell if I've done something incredibly stupid or not. Writing that letter to Angie was at once very relieving and the most stressful thing I've done in a while. I don't know when or if I'll get any response (or what response I might get). It is completely unpredictable, though I have a feeling that I may have ruined whatever tenuous friendship we had. I don't know why I feel that way....maybe I don't want to get my hopes up.
I wonder if honesty is always the best policy? I think I live in a more romantic (in the general sense or the word) world where the truth can always set you free, honesty is endearing, and positive twists of fate are just around the corner. As much as I like to poo-poo phony sentimentality, I think I'd like to believe that the world works in such ways. I'd like to believe in Karma Police.
Even though the letter wasn't as revealing as it could've been, I feel as if I just peeled off all of my skin and handed it to her with a bucket of salt to use at her discretion. I don't often feel so vulnerable. There's something to be said for throwing your fragile psyche into someone else's lap. Then again, there's something very crazy about it.
I hope I receive some kind of response soon. "Waiting is the hardest part."
I don't want to screw this up.
update: I did screw it up. I suck. Why am I so retarded? ugh.