2001-05-01 :: 2:00 p.m.
I wish I were seaside, sipping Ouzo. Snacking on grilled octopus. Flip flops dangling off toes, shoulders like chocolate. I wish I could say "three more months," but the oddest thing is happening with my ticket. Namely, there aren't any. There. Aren't. Any. I can't leave. It has become a physical impossibility. I nearly threw a tantrum yesterday with the travel agent and was like "Well, put me on a fucking boat, then!" But let's be realistic. I'd sooner swim to Greece than endure a two-week boat trip. Well, whoever's playing this cosmic joke on me will not have the last laugh. My ass is on a plane in August, I give not a shit how.
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