Entry 15: So… I’m sitting outside. It feels nice outside for the first time in a while. Fall, they say. Why is Houston so hell bent on breaking the rules and not following the seasonal guidelines? Beats me.
I’ve decided to spend my time people watching. Right now, we have two rather large women sitting at a table not seven feet from me, getting high as a kite. It’s truly fabulous. They’ve blown through one joint, moved on to their second. I don’t know what’s in there but they sure seem to be getting their money’s worth. Each roll is jiggling with every HA. It’s almost mesmerizing.
I’m not a bad person. I promise. In fact, I had someone make a comment to me today about large[r] women after I made a comment about weight. I got the stereotypical two minute rant on how larger women and women with “curves” are real women. I tried so hard not to laugh. What does that make me then? Because I’m not large or have an excessive amount of curves, I’m not a “real” woman? That’s not what your mom said. In fact she complimented me on how real I am. Realistically speaking.
I mean, honestly. How is that a decent argument? Especially when, philosophically speaking, we don’t even know what real is? I mean (and again, philosophically speaking), for all we know, we could be living in a dream. A dream within a dream. Although why you would dream yourself to be hostile to “unreal” women or a man more interested in wearing pants that give even him a camel toe, is beyond me. I guess that’s the type of fucked up imagination humanity has. Maybe we each have our own dreams. Why am I dreaming these people in my dream? Why isn’t it filled with endless supplies of beer and friendly faeries everywhere? Maybe we’re all interconnected. Something similar to The Matrix only with less evil, human hating robots…
I guess that’s a question for somebody on drugs. Too bad the stoned women have fled the scene. I shall ponder here in my sobriety until I come across other hopeful candidates.