Can't sleep (but not because clowns will eat me)
I promised Leslie I was gonna take those Tylenol PMs and go to bed. I didn't.
Holy crap, why can't I just get up from here and move without feeling like my heart is going to explode?
I've done everything I can. I called friends from Rucker so they wouldn't find out by seeing his name on some casualty list.
The Naked Ninja told me: "It's always the guy that everybody likes".
Can everyone please start hating my husband? Now?
I can't believe we were worried it was Thomas, and I was so relieved to see that he had logged on to Myspace on Sunday. I was correct to assume that it meant he was still breathing. Then I got that fucking call. Like a punch to the diaphram. It's always like that. Sympathy is expected, but why the hell am I empathysing? I've known my share of loss, sure, but I'm not a widow. This is so fucked up. It's not going to bring Chris back, or help Christina out in any way. Yet I can't sleep, and every distraction I immerse myself in is interrupted by tragic reality. Like my brain has to constantly remind me: "Hey! Your friend is dead and your other friend, his wife, probably feels like dying right now!"
Thanks, brain. Fuck you.
Holy crap, why can't I just get up from here and move without feeling like my heart is going to explode?
I've done everything I can. I called friends from Rucker so they wouldn't find out by seeing his name on some casualty list.
The Naked Ninja told me: "It's always the guy that everybody likes".
Can everyone please start hating my husband? Now?
I can't believe we were worried it was Thomas, and I was so relieved to see that he had logged on to Myspace on Sunday. I was correct to assume that it meant he was still breathing. Then I got that fucking call. Like a punch to the diaphram. It's always like that. Sympathy is expected, but why the hell am I empathysing? I've known my share of loss, sure, but I'm not a widow. This is so fucked up. It's not going to bring Chris back, or help Christina out in any way. Yet I can't sleep, and every distraction I immerse myself in is interrupted by tragic reality. Like my brain has to constantly remind me: "Hey! Your friend is dead and your other friend, his wife, probably feels like dying right now!"
Thanks, brain. Fuck you.