$41.65 My head started pounding most of the way through the conversation with Fenton. Highly forced, because I didn't feel like sitting in silence on the bus and contemplating my surroundings. A man came onto the bus looking fairly dejected and depressed, and more then a little bit drunk. He started out sitting in front of me (sideways- I always sit in the back corners of the bus if I can) and would throw doleful little glances in my direction with dark brown eyes widening in an age-pitted face. I was not uncomfortable but he manifested that perhaps he was creeping me out and moved to the seat that actually faced the front of the bus, rather then having us both sit in a wash of bourbon that lingered in the air. In the seat he vacated, a long folding knife was left behind. It was silver, and engraved with birds and flowers, despite the fact that it also looked quite fierce, and was huge- no surprising wonder that it slid out of a nylon pocket. I held it in my hands and debated whether or not it would be a good idea to inform him of my finding it, but realized a few things. Firstly, do you possibly anger a man that carries around a huge knife? Secondly, if you find a huge knife from a guy who carries a knife, do you call it to his attention that you have his weapon of choice in your hand, that you may or may not have picked off of him? He's drunk right? What if he's an angry drunk? And on and on. It's a good thing that honesty pays off, because I gave it back to him and all was good. He kept apologizing and saying that I shouldn't be scared of him because he carried it. But though I had all these questions, I realized that I hadn't been scared. I've always thought it rather foolish to be actually afraid of people. Ah ha ha...haughty.

I actually thought I'd be in bed right now, after popping some advil for all the pain. Every square inch of me feels like it's been stomped on repeatedly- which is embarrassing, because it means that I am getting old. The thing that is bothering me the most is my knee, because it is the most concrete thing I have that is showing my age- "the injury that will never ever really go away". That kills me.

Thought about sex a lot tonight. I've been considering this whole "fuckbuddy" thing again, which is so very not-a-good-idea-atall that it makes me laugh that my body would betray me into thinking it was. I honestly will not sink to this low, because it's just not worth it. I am constantly reminded that I'm at an age where I should be fucking like rabbit avec le garcon lapin, but really, it's just not cool with me. It's funny though, because I'm constantly realizing how easy it would be to get back into that game. It would be a matter of phonecalls. It's not that I'm hot shit, it's just that I know some damn pathetic boys. This is so awful that I'm saying this too, because I really just want Mr. Pink. It's stupid, but I miss knowing that he was even "with" me, my "boyfriend"- even though he never particularly acted like a boyfriend. Maybe I'm more apprehensive about dying alone then I thought.

And coffee/eating was good. I didn't have much to say, other then to offer snide remarks and talk about naughty things with the usual audacity- No interac though, made me mad. She should have fucking told us before we actually got into the meal, ordered, sat down.....seriously. But she was nice, so I feel bad for saying that. She had this whole "I'll-listen-to-your-story-and-cluck-like-your-mama" thing going on.

Tomorrow- I bust out Nirvana. It shall be good.  ¶ 1:24 AM