A little. Un tres peu. Il suffisait.
Dana, Shuki and I were up all last night, talking in circles. I'm in the trough phase, so to speak, and talk pays no toll but it does keep the blues at bay, so I'm talking.
My problem, and I do have one, is you. Yes, you. You know me offline. I don't really want you reading my blog. It tells you nothing new. But if you do come (cheap thrills, cheri?) I don't want to talk about it off the blog. If I did, I would. Since I don't I wish you would just fuck off with your views on my life.
Occasionally, there's a friend or two who's permitted to bring this stuff up. Shuki. E. Beq even since he has the class not to. But this permission has not been extended to you. I don't want to be your Facebook friend and I don't want to know you on Orkut and I don't care if you think you and I lead parallel lives. Your empathy embarrasses me.
Yes, I'm talking to you. Piss off.