News (gossip, actually) travels faster than a case of crabs being spread amongst a group of street punks. (And according to my new homeless friend, James, that is saying something!) As they take interest in another person's dilemma, and comment on the evident deterioration of her mind, I thought of myself, of course. I would be a horrible alcoholic. Not because I am a nasty or a mean drunk. No, it's the commitment to alcohol that completely turns me off. The reason I am not a lush is because the thought of drinking on a daily basis sounds too repetitive and dull to me. I couldn't play the role. I have come close to dependency, but the ride was too long. Out of boredom, I jumped off that train before it crashed and burned. I cannot stand it when there is nothing to do, and yet, I can't seem to shake that feeling of dullness off. The average person entertains me for five minutes. If you are lucky, you hold my attention for fifteen. I even bore myself. Me! I am my favorite person. But I become restless and crave change constantly. Tired of my actions, my thoughts, my beliefs, my words and that is why they are never set in stone. I am on this never-ending mission to spice things up a notch. No, correction, I am on a never-ending mission to find a new me, and new things to fit in well with the new person I create. I think of synonyms for the word "bored". Disinterested. Fatigued. I scratch out anything that might offend anyone, and then share this new realization with my friends. They sit quietly, as I obviously struggle to express my thoughts. They sit, stare and laugh at my mispronunciation of words, they laugh at my slight Greek accent that comes out of nowhere when I speak quickly. Mason looks at me with his wide koala eyes. With the same nonchalant expression he always wears. Sean opens his mouth to say something, but at the last moment refrains himself. His white, perfect teeth are exposed, and they contrast with his dark skin and his scruffy facial hair. Michael responds, but I ignore him. I am not in the mood for his smart-ass remarks. He continues to speak, unfortunately. He tries to get my attention by spitting something harsh. I get back at him by erecting my right leg so that my foot is leveled to his nose, and he is forced to smell it. Truce. Back to talking. "I think there is an exception to this rule, Cristina," Michael says. "Yeah? Tell me what it is." "What are you doing, tonight?" And I understand what he means. I answer the question and pretend there is no link between this and his first comment. "I am supposed to meet Ryan." But I add that I am not in the mood. I act cool and show no emotions. I hide how excited I really am to see him. I command my heart to stop beating so fast at the mention of his name. I also feel disappointed because my weakness is so obvious. I should have done a better job at masking it. All three of them can read me well, they don't buy any of it. Honestly, I don't understand how it is possible that I still remain interested in Ryan. How I gave the rest of my life to him, impresses me. Knowing me, it doesn't really make sense, and I'm not going to bother trying to decode, understand or analyze it. He is my rock, the one thing in my life that is solid, strong and permanent. I will never have sex with anyone else. He is my first and my last. That thought should terrify me, but the prospect of forever with him sounds so nice. Fuck the manic changes I go through, he will always stay constant. Fuck the identity crises, as long as he is still with me when we're old, swaying away in his rocking chair besides me, I'll be just fine.