K- is interviewing with the American University this morning and I have part of the day to myself. This is a good thing. It used to bother K- about how much 'alone time' I need- I hink we've compromised well. I'm sitting in a park on Ille de St. Louis listening to David Gray on my iPod and enjoying a moment in my head. I'm on my way to Jim Morrison's death apartment in the Marais and I'm already disappointed. I'm making this little visit because I told myself I would. He mattered to me in high school but, as a grown man, I'm less intrigued. Pills and alcoholism are less romantic when you've awoken in your own piss and vomit because of them. Maybe this little pilgrimage is a reminder of how my life got better. I am in a mental place that I could never have imagined. Good lord, that brought a little tear to my eye, time to move on ands see where that fat motherfucker died...there now I'm better.