You know how you yearn for some stupid things or wish on some funny stars for weird stuff to happn to you.

I've always wanted to work in a coffee shop, say Starbucks or that other one in London, of which I don't know why I forget the name. Especially the morning shift when people come in to grab their early morning jolts of cappuchino, dark roast, all their latte's and muffins. It was big in Europe, slightly big right now in some parts of downtown, and that was when the fever came over me. The coffee shop cafe fever. I remember when they were doing a mass hiring stint but I coudn't go because they wanted the hirees to produce a Birtish passport like most British citizens ever have one.

I would love to work in cafe in Europe later on in life when I've done this eveasive career thing to death. I would love to work in one that has seats overlooking the river or the canal or just by the street. I would waitress or cook, or just serve food. I thought about moving to Savannah and working in one, because that's the only town close by where I've observed that way of life. But I didn't and I haven't. I do't have the balls to do that. Maybe, maybe next summer.

However, adding to my cravings or lifelong dreams. I thought about another one today. Spending the weekend with some special person in a loft by the ocean. We could take long walks by the beach, make love on the sand, wake up and kiss each other longingly with our morning breaths and not think about work or the hassles of the city for one full weekend. It would be pure bliss. This is more of a right-now wish than the former.

I called Ryan today. He sounded, distant, or maybe it was the wine I had been having that made me think so. He was happy to hear from me, but he couldn't recognise my voice. I get edgy when people don't recognize my voice from the first hello. I think he was more disappointed that I called him when I was half drunk on 2 glasses of wine. He said, "You call me only when you're drunk?" Like anything else could possess me to dial his number otherwise. Then, I sent him a text message that professed how much I missed him.

It read: I miss you incredibly. Should I?

I don't know if it was the wine or my tiredness at bullshitting him about the way I feel, I just felt that it was time I coughed up something inside me and that seemed like a good enough time as any to do it---when I was half-drunk. But I do miss him. I even wrote this "I hate you" poem about him. But something inside keeps telling me, he's only 20 years old, handsome, charming and very out of your league. And then something else tells me, "What they heck, you have nothing to lose except your stupidity/dignity which I've already lost by moving into this country, so why not, if not.. You never know."

I just wish I knew what was going down at the other end of the spectrum.

So my weekend was blah. I have so much time on my hands I don't know what to do with it. So much time, I do't know what to do with it. Except send insinuating text messages to men who never call me.