Since it was Christmas, and I didn’t want to hunt down a nice Jewish girl with a not so nice nose, I decided it would be a nice day to spend in isolation. I got my parents new Old fashioned glasses for Christmas, and my dad a very nice bottle of scotch. I “borrowed” the bottle of scotch, and christened one of the glasses. I took out my copy of Trimalchio and hunkered down by the fire.
His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.
Depending on the day I would either instantly propose or tell off a girl I met if her name turned out to be Daisy. At the very least, I would throw a bunch of lavish parties, hoping she would show up. But unfortunately,
Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs and So I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan scornful mouth smiled and so I drew her up again, closer, this time to my face.
Highschool Travis tried to make every girl out to be Daisy. I even think I tried to make Kara my Daisy for a little while there. I’m actually enjoying a few other girls right now too. Back then I wanted every girl to haunt the very fiber of my being, the minutia of my day. And these days it feels like I’m just drawing up the girl beside me with scornful mouths.
I’m at the mid-way point here and I feel as if I’m already slightly tarnished. I start this out playing the field, and I can’t even think of more than five of these girls that I even really want to see again, much less see on a consistent basis. And about 1/5 of those have I actually felt comfortable, and dare I say, myself next to. Even when I sleep with a girl, the sleep is never sound. It’s never solid, or comfortable. It’s shallow, and I spend the night stirring.
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