7:35AM: i’ve been drinking ‘i’m coconuts for you’ out of the bottle and reading this on living room couch, next to a sleeping shirley. it is snowing and no longer nighttime. want a cigarette. not tired. i miss my apartment in baltimore. i was so happy then. there were things i was trying to do, that. i felt i was. trying. hoping. things were happening. there was hope. i was. how did i get so old.

here is what it says, exactly what it says, in the description area on the back of the ‘i’m coconuts for you’ ‘original bartenders premium selection’ bottle, reproducing the text exactly right now for you, so you understand:

ORIGINAL BARTENDERS

“I’M COCONUTS OVER YOU”

A Local Caribbean band played a laid-back melody they called “I’m Coconuts Over You.” The club bartender loved it. He decided to make a drink which would go with music. Starting with extra fine aged Rum he added all natural coconut. Soon everyone in the club went wild. Hearing the band play and drinking “I’m Coconuts Over You.”

Enjoy on ice with Cola.

it’s just this thing: here it is. here it is, for anyone. that’s how it introduces itself. this, in this way. it’s. jesus, there’s no way to talk about this without it sounding condescending, but what i feel is affection and sadness, towards a sad thing of the world. i want to be in jordan’s car that morning we stayed up all night and picked mal up from work and went to whole foods. it was this fall. i miss them a lot. ‘i’m coconuts over you’ jesus goddamn fuck. need to be re-baptised or something.

3–4:15PM: woke thinking/dreaming i was talking to ex-boyfriend. asked if he wanted to go to the library and he said ‘yes’ and i went back to sleep. woke several times, unsure if we had been mid-conversation. saw him drinking whiskey. saw him enter bedroom with leftovers and say ‘it’s so coagulated’ about the cheese. saw him enter bedroom with beer cans maybe twice.

5:40PM: ex-boyfriend walked into living room, where i’m sitting, wearing only gray sort-of boxer briefs with holes in the fabric and barely any elastic. he calls these his ‘pretty panties.’ he stood facing the window, staring affectedly catatonically with his flaccid penis out, like, tugging it. he said ‘look at alvie, how alvie is sitting with his three legs like…he’s sitting like in that movie. like the holy trinity.’ alvie was leaning sexily on the arm of the chair, letting his legs extend, adding to the sexiness.