The consequences of waking up too early.

Five cigarettes by sunrise, listening to the Pernice
Brothers croon, “Blinded by the stars/can you help me get to where you
are/Blinded by the stars/So familiar that it feels too strange/Give a name to
this terrifying change.”

This is what I
think about the way I love, today. I fall for attached men with eyebrow-raising
regularity. All of my great loves, bar none, had either a wife or a girlfriend.
Even the one who said he had broken up with his girlfriend apparently did so in
secret, because she never knew about it.

It is perfectly possible my subconscious
is drawn to relationships with built-in escape hatches. I could be the Mini Stop
open-24-hours girlfriend – just drop by when it’s convenient and leave with
fried wanton and change, and I’ll smile and tell you to have a nice day. I could
be the promotional girlfriend – offer good while supplies last. I could be the
Singapore girlfriend – it’s a nice enough place to visit but you wouldn’t want
to live there.

It is perfectly possible
that I don’t have regular relationships (and by this I only mean where both
parties have no other commitments; after that your definition applies) because I
can’t stand the thought of finally buying; the thrill has always been in the
shopping. This is why I have more shoes than I can stand, or stand in.

It is also perfectly possible that I’m
just plain unlucky.