vegas, baby, vegas!

i'm in vegas this whole week 'on business' and it is ridiculous. i'm staying in the palms, home of the playboy suite, and fox basically has the whole entire 31st floor at our disposal, which includes the pimp ass suite of all awesomeness at the end of the hall. now, this suite is basically bigger than most peoples households and goes for about 35k a night. there's an infinity pool that hangs off the edge of the tower and a circular rotating bed; there's a whole wall that is a fountain and flows down into a pool of majesty inside overlooking the las vegas strip. there's a full bar and about 20 bathrooms and a few rooms; a sauna and some tread mills. what the eff. i don't even know where i am right now. oh yeah. vegas, baby, vegas! and i'm drunk. did i mention that? yea, that's right. it's only 7:30pm and i've already had at least 3.5 mixed drinks by the bartender johnny. johnny has lived here for 5 years and wants to be an actor. he's from chicago. how i know this, i'm not sure. perhaps i talk a lot when i'm tipsy. i also talked to one of the security men for a while and he was telling me all about all the wild and crazy celebrity parties that have gone on in this very suite and i was like, 'listen. i am from la. big woop.' he thought he was awesome though. i mean, maybe he was.

the things about vegas i have noted thus far:
- cute little granny's. i'm telling you. the number one fan's of slot machines are cute little wrinkly grandma's. it's adorable. but i'm sure if i were to take the time to try to talk to one of them i would come to find that they are heartless old hags who just pass the time playing slots while they try to avoid thinking about the fact that they are just... old.

- elevators. i'm on the 15th floor. therefore, to get up to the 31st and then back down to mine, i have to go all the way down, transfer elevators and then go back up. i don't mind this. but for one, the elevator music is bomb. i mean, we're talking jay-z and lil wayne, britney spears and freakin' 2pac. it's like a party every time i step into one of those things. last night, i stepped onto one elevator and was appalled at the strong scent of perfume that still lingered in that small little box. then, as i stepped onto the next, i was equally appalled that it too smelled of a different perfume. what's the deal? i mean, i'm not complaining, but seriously how much perfume is needed here ladies?

- i'm drunk.

thank you. and goodnight.

tonight i'll write.

tonight i'll write.  and i'll let these daunting melodies crawl down inside of me until i swallow them whole.  i'll try my hardest to do this before they become the ones actually swallowing me, though i fear they have already begun to.  tonight i'll write; i'll write until i disappear.  i'll write until i stop wondering what it is i even want to write.  and it's been so long since i've tried any of this.  sometimes i don't know who i am becoming; who i am; who i even want to be.  and sometimes i don't even know if i care anymore... or if i ever cared.  and how am i supposed to know?  how am i supposed to know what i am supposed to want for myself?  how am i supposed to know if you are right for me, or if i am right for you?  how am i supposed to know, when i feel like i don't know anything?  and am i really confused, or am i just pretending?  am i just afraid?  so what am i so afraid of?  and i can feel my legs go out from under me; i'm being swallowed.  swallowed by myself.  swallowed by a voice that screams a whispering cry so faint that all i can do is feel its ache.  i ache for you.  i ache for me; to know me.  my joys become you.  my fears are set free about you and i somehow make them grow.  just want me.  i want you, badly.  

tonight i'll write.  but my arms are next to go... and i'm swallowed.