constant glances toward the door

Prince is playing on my stereo, but then again, when he is not playing on my stereo?

I went to my mom's house in Delaware for Thanksgiving. It was a crowded house full of relatives I hadn't seen in forever. Lots of Trivial Pursuit was played. Some Scrabble. I smoked a lot of cigarettes with my aunts and uncles as they hid their smoking habits from their kids, smoking in the backyard with constant glances toward the door.

I want to write a novel called "Constant Glances Toward the Door." I have no idea what it would be about. I just like the title. A short story is probably a more realistic goal. Even that, like most ideas, will probably be unrealized.

I was horny while at my mom's house, probably because there was nothing I could do about it in such a crowded house, probably because I was thrown back mentally into what it was like to be a horny teenager being in my parent's house and wanting to jerk off all the time and having nowhere to do so as I was given the couch in this full house.

At the Wilmington Amtrak station on my way home, I used the bathroom before boarding which seemed vaguely cruisey. There were a lot of homeless seeming dudes and someone in the stall next to me standing in an awkward position, feet to the side, that made me think he was jerking off. I wanted to reach under the stall and tug every dick this world had on offer. Instead, terrified that this was some entrapment thing, that I would be arrested while my sister was in the waiting room of the train station, and it would be a fairly unpleasant scene, taken out in handcuffs, my family having to come rescue me, imagining all this, I instead buttoned my pants and boarded the train eventually. Once on the train, I went into the bathroom and finally jerked off like I had been wanting to all weekend, unable to wait until I made it back to my apartment in Brooklyn.

Last night, I drank a lot of whiskey, did some drugs, and travelled around town, starting off at a Morrissey party which was a little boring. We then headed to Metropolitan. I told someone that they were a douchebag that I think is a douchebag and it felt really good. Sometimes it feels so fucking good to say how you feel, that it's similar to cumming, shooting this load finally that you have had pent up, letting it go. Orgasmic release.

I hung out at a friend's house after the bar closed. There was a blind dog.

I walked home with the same friend that I had sex with last weekend and again had sex with him last night. On the way to my house, I vaguely remembered him saying, "Are we going to talk about this?" We didn't. He was gone by the time I woke up this morning, hungover, head aching.

Another weekend.