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- I daydream too much. It's out of hand, always. When I don't have anything attainable to dream about, I make shit up. When I do have something attainable to dream about, I do. I waste hours. I spend 40 hours a week sitting at my desk daydreaming. I lay in bed in the mornings, I lay in bed at night, daydreaming all the while. I thought maybe I'd stop daydreaming so much now that I don't have to but that was erroneous. I daydream even more now, if possible. Now that I've gotten a little of what I want, I can't stop thinking about it. In my defense, you would too. The boy's got eyes that are (pardon the simile) like pools of coffee, if pure coffee sprang up naturally in high mountain lakes, clear sunshine sparkling on the surface. He's got cheeks and a smile that you can't stop looking at, he's got curly hair that you can run your fingers through or you could until he got it cut, he's got a new short haircut that has only made him cuter. What a fucking doll. You're such a doll, such a fucking doll, I told him. What does that mean, he asked, I'm a toy, you're going to toy with me? No, I said, you're a doll, you're a fucking doll. I won't detail my thoughts, it's embarrassing enough that I'm driven to simile and metaphor, but ohhh. He's gone and I don't miss him at all - even if he were here I'd be daydreaming thusly - but I opened my email this morning and looked at an old message from him and I opened iTunes and am listening to music he sent me and it's not nostalgia I'm feeling because we haven't been hanging out long enough for that - um. I like him, have I mentioned that? I just like him. Boys, now I remember why we like them so much.
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