[Scroll to the italics for trippy fan-fiction¿]

12:41 (PM) 

Here’s a list of the ingredients I used for the rice pudding I’m eating… Right now… 

  • Rice
  • Almond flakes
  • Raisins
  • Cinnamon
  • Vanilla essence
  • Vanilla sugar
  • Almond essence
  • Sugar
  • Cow milk

It’s still warm :]. I’m drinking tea from matté and lemongrass with it.

I haven’t been able to break my sleeping cycle, where I go to bed past two AM and get out of bed somewhere between 10 and 12. It takes hours for me to fall asleep. It’s not that big a deal, though, because I often write until around one o’clock in the night. 

The hardest thing about leaving my bed, is letting go of my pillow. I always lay it “in portrait” [instead of the classic “landscape” position pilows lay on on beds] and wrap my arms around it. 

With my eyes closed, I focus on the movement of my skull, that has always stayed [but I can’t talk about, because that would make me risk getting stuck in a system I think shouldn’t even exist in the first place**]. I consciously made myself imagine the following scene:

It is early in the morning. Wearing only a t-shirt of him, which is so big that is looks like a shirt dress, I enter the living room that is a modernized space with a kitchen, dining area and couches etc. Benoît is reading a book on the couch, wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, barefoot. His right foot is placed flat on the couch. His other foot is on the floor. He leans against the heightened arm rest of the couch that is custom made, because he is ve-ry tall. 

[This takes place in a penthouse in LA. We’re very close to the top floor, able to oversee the entire city.]

While walking into the kitchen, I notice he often looks up from his book to look at me, with such a loving expression in his eyes. I ask him if he wants some soup, too. He replies, “Yes.” I pour us some of the cream fish soup we made the day before. With two bowls in my hand, I walk around the bar  – with high modern bar stools on the left side – that surrounds the kitchen part of the living room. As soon as I step onto the ground of the sitting area, of wich the wooden floor is lower than the rest of the living space, I can see his full body. I freeze. The porcelain bowls slip out of my hands and shatter onto the ground. I couldn’t help but stare… D a m n… I feel my mouth starts to water… When our eyes meet [I was staring at a different part of him…], within a split second, he throws his book onto the ground and I, without a run-up, jump a more than five meter distance – the way superhumans do – to end up on top of him. 

I wish my feelings for him were generally accepted… With who else can I cook, travel, run, play sports, have non-shallow conversations, write, be crazy intimate, NEVER look at television unless it’s something from our network, do research, do business, learn new languages, translate Latin, play video games, make music, make a movie and learn the ins and outs of the system [so that I exactly know how to alter it without abruptly disrupting it]????? It’s so annoying that these non-parties have put me in a position where I risk(ed¿) losing him for no fucking reason, taking away my right to make my own decisions, while they actually didn’t have the right to do that to me… 

20:23 (08:23 PM) 

I’m having dinner with my parents and sister.

Course 1

Course 2: