I continually want to be writing here...

I miss it.

I just find that, lately, I am home so rarely as to make it nearly impossible for me to find the time to type even a few words.  This is the first time I've been in front of my computer in days.

I've been spending a lot of time with my new(ish) girlfriend.  She lives in Ypsilanti, whereas my home is in Whitmore Lake.  It takes me 35 minutes to drive back and forth, and, seeing as how my job is also in Ypsilanti, I simply opt to stay there most days.

Time is slowly beginning to mold my committment to this woman.  She is intolerable, at times, yet quite funny and beautiful.  I enjoy the way that she smells, and the way that she laughs, and I think that we make a good match.

Time, of course, may be chipping away at my typical reservations, but is also bound to be the first to reveal to me whether or not I can remain faithful. 

I hope that I can.

I dunno why, but I was browsing some photo's of my ex-girlfriend, Jenna, on Facebook, and it struck me all over again how beautiful she is.  Hopefully this isn't too creepy, Jenna, in case you happen to see this entry. 

That chick is a fucking babe.  For real.  It's been years since we dated, and she's been dating the same guy for about as long as we've been apart... so whatever. 

I think I just feel a little cocky, thinking to myself, "I used to see that girl naked."

By the way, I've done remarkably well not drinking, folks.  I drink so rarely now that a single beer(which I still partake of, occasionally) will get me buzzed.  It's a weird thing.  The other day I imagined myself sitting on my old couch sucking down a 5th of liquor all by myself, and I wondered how I ever was that person.

Happiness is not now.  It is not here, in any sense that I can identify.  But at least I can feel the difference between happiness and sadness.  Between gravity and non-gravity. 

There is no cloud of alcohol following me, permeating my awareness, like dirt followed that kid Pig-pen from The Peanuts. 

At 4 in the morning after sitting here musing about my life for hours, there seems to be only one song that can convey what's going on:

Galen, I think you'll like this song a bunch.

It's by Dan Deacon.

So, I work with a girl named Audrey.  She is the embodiment of delicious.  She is the personification of luscious.  She is, physically, everything that I've ever wanted in a woman.

She is driving me crazy.

She was at one of the computers today typing in an order when I walked up behind her, reached past her shoulder, and began to fuck with what she was doing.  Glancing over at me, she stood bewildered.  After just a moment her ability to tolerate my stupidity boiled over, and she pushed me away from her.  It was the kind of push that preschoolers direct at each other in an effort to attract interest from the little boy or girl they find cute.  It was a worm in my hair before running away giggling. 

I stepped back and gave her room to enter the order.  Once she finished she turned to me, took a bold step forward into my "bubble space," and said sexily, "You can fuck with me now."

Perhaps I misunderstood, but I'd like to think her words were dripping with just as much sex as I think they were.

I want to wreck this girl.  I want to make love to her, and then treat her like a dirty, filthy little girl.  I want to pleasure her with my mouth and then bend her over and fuck her like the world is ending.

Britney Jones, you hush.  I already know I'm a bad man.