Thursday, October 28, 2010

Too Early on A Thursday...

*OK, so what the Hell is wrong with me? (waits for chorus of shouted answers to die down) You don't dig up something that died years ago. You leave it alone. Period. End of story. But, for some reason, I can't do that. Just have to keep picking at the edges of that scab until it starts to bleed some more. If nothing else, I should have learned at the reunion how fleeting my presence was. So why the fuck do I keep chasing this around? What is there that I need to learn from this that hasn't sunk in quite yet? And why does seeing her picture after all these years still make my heart fall into the pit of my stomach? But it's like I never existed. One more thing I can just pull my hair out over. Fuck me. There is no logical reason for this. None. But dammit, there she is. I have too much going on this week to be getting distracted, but after who knows how many years, seeing a goddamn picture of her made my head spin. And it was the eyes. I knew it was her when I saw the eyes. Shit. Yet another good sign that I need to kick up my dosage several notches. The rest of my outside life is in the hands of the printer right now, which makes me quite uneasy. And, I've been cooped up in this house too long. Maybe I'll see if Bart wants to head out for a while tomorrow. The concept of the Mid-Life crisis has been a subject of contemplation lately. Can I put aside my love of stuff and be what I think I should be, or do I submit to the system and be a good little drone? Soylent Green is made of people. Nobody wants to hear that though. Once again, kicking rocks over the edge of the precipice wondering what they feel when they hit the bottom. Is there any satisfaction beyond creating? Are they watching from their shadowy corners? Has my fate been decided for me? Should I get food from Portillo's or Schnuck's for the event this weekend? I get why I couldn't be with her then, and I am still fighting that same fucking war right now. What is wrong with me?? Are the meds the issue, or is it some part of me that's afraid to die? What did Bill manage to scar that badly? Do my parents ever wonder about me? Why can't I figure out what it is that I'm supposed to be? And more importantly, when does the clock run out?

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