Am I odd for getting choked up seeing Roger Waters play with Pink Floyd again? I don't think so. Their separation was so grievous, so acrimonious, yet they looked so happy. When Gilmour and Waters harmonized on "Wish You Were Here," I teared up, despite the fact that Chris, Amy, Adam and Herbie were there with me. I've watched the tape several times, and each time I've felt this surge of emotion well within me.

So much has happened and I'm far too lazy to post all of it...I'll spare you, dear reader, the details of my drinking tea and reading for hours. I've been writing and riding and living the life of a poor millionaire. I've been with friends, but, in retrospect, the greatest moments of the summer thus far have been alone. I'm reading an enthralling book called Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, and I love drinking tea, watching thunderstorms, and getting lost in his parallel narratives. I am a dork.

I helped Sophia move into her awesome flat in Hyde Park...I am seriously jealous and told her that, if she finds me a place for $500, I'll move in instantly. There's such a vibe there and I felt myself expanding to meet it. We walked around all evening and I drank something called a milk tea with coffee in a restaurant in China Town (at midnight) and seriously didnt sleep the whole night. But the important thing is that I had an onion on my belt...

I want to live somewhere where I can do something other than hang out at a bar at 2 in the morning.

Sophia and I leave for New York City tomorrow (my first time) and then there's the looming backpacking trip with Jeremy and my soul-searching quest out to San Francisco, and THEN I will move out. September, hopefully.

I am getting there, ladies and gentlemen. A long pain ending without a song to prove it.

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