November 22, 2003
I sit alone in a dark room surrounded by people drinking, clinking, laughing, talking, and eating in a burble and gurgle of conversation. I am happy in my state of flux and wandering musings of shopping consumerism and martini smoke hazed dream. I crave the coolness of a salty breeze and the wiggle of a sandy toe. Here in the cold snowy region of winter connecting to the barren trees is a connection to the lonely side of my death. Each snowflake reflected in the eyes around the table and I am lost inside the drunkenness of my thoughts. Disconnected.