InPrestonated

That is what Father O says I am. He asked if I am in love with fella. I told him, "Oh Nooooooo... No no no." He asked about being infatuated. I said, "Wouldn't really call it infatuation." He said, "You are inprestonated with him." I knew exactly what he meant. It was the most absolutely perfect way to describe it. It is the way I feel and act and am when I am interested in a guy. Inprestonated. He then went on to say it wouldn't work out between myself and fella as I am a cerebral person and fella is a physical one. He was right about us both to an extent and may be right about it not working out between us if anything ever comes of it, but still. Well, he was exactly right about me and partially right about fella. I almost hate that he knows me so well. I'm gonna miss him. There is a very good chance that within the next month, I'll have moved to Memphis. No not for fella. Fella is the really fucking nice icing on the cake (The icing that according to Gay Momma's rules I am to scrape off and set aside, never to ever ever ever partake. Luckily, I am grown and what Gay Momma doesn't know won't kill her.) No I've gone thru all my reasons I feel I am supposed to move to Memphis. I'm being pointed in that direction. By the way, best trip to Memphis ever while being one of the worse ever. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times and all that jazz. I really had a fan-motha fuckin-tastic time. I did have a drunken emotional breakdown Monday night. It was a biggie. Too much change going on in my life at once for me to handle I suppose. Here is what I sat and scribbled on pieces of paper to myself in my drunken mess: (Actually, I am just gonna end it because I don't feel like bringing it all back up.)

Later Consuela.