1:19am.

Eating smoked salmon with my fingers, enjoying a delicious Cabernet. Making sure to lick my fingers off before I type again. This uses up lots of time, but it’s worth it.

The salmon is great, but not thrilling – and I have now decided to, for the first time since I was living in New York, to make my own Grav Lax – a salmon that is cured instead of smoked, and much juicier, flavorful, and versatile. The inspiration came from talking to Louis, our executive chef, and being in the right place at the right time to sample his.

Plain, it was delightful – but then, he simply seasoned it with some sea salt, lemon juice, and olive oil, and my gods – it was like a hundred women coming simultaneously as I gave them head. Since I am far from capable of doing that, I settle for the grav lax, and I’m certain I can find a willing volunteer to play the part of Beauty to my Tramp.

So yeah – life is good, for the most part, but I’m still dissatisfied. I begin a second job tomorrow morning – one so horribly mundane that I’m embarrased to describe it, but it will help further me towards my goal. I’m getting to Europe, and will be ther for months. Simple. It will happen. I create my life.

Cole said that she was proud of the things that I was accomplishing, but I still don’t feel like I’ve accomplished much. Not in a way that brings me down, but in a way that makes me thirst for more.

I never want this thirst to go away.

I guess I am something of a life slut. Now that I know what it feels like, I’ll never be able to get enough – of any part of it.

My former Athame sits on the solitary table in front of me, calling – but I know better. It’s sharp as fucking hell, and I’ve had a bit of wine. I need to grind the edges down so I can use it as a simple trainer without doing serious damage.

I’ve become proficient at playing the harmonica that a friend in Austin gave me, but it’s quite a rediculous one, and far from serious. A real one will be purchased with my first paycheck, coming tomorrow.

I think I should probably go to sleep now.

I miss passion. I feel dry.

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