#3
Long talks with Ela aren't always good for my current state of mind. How close we've been to death, the silly things we say to boys, the strange relationships we may have with them, whether or not a wordy alcoholic can actually walk the walk and not talk the talk. I talked about Deb. Always about Deb. I'm never over her. I really need to talk to Ange about her. I don't think I ever will. If I did, maybe I'd get some sort of closure. Maybe I'll visit on Friday. Maybe my heart just breaks every time I think about her. Every time. I guess Uncle Steve gets added to that too. Every time I think about him. My poor heart. More like poor tear ducts. I have a lot on my mind. LIke how easily one person affects everything. Like how I'm a sap, overly sensitive El might say. I don't think that's a bad thing. It's not. If I was less sensitive I wouldn't know the people I know. I wouldn't have seen Deb. I wouldn't know Laura. I'd still be mad at Mike. I'd probably taken a lot of LSD and tripped my life away, if I was less sensitive. the words that come out of her mouth astound me sometimes. How they fit together to form the strangest thoughts and feelings and how she actually has the guts to say them (or send them in most cases). I can't say how illogical I am but I can say how sensible I can be. How I can meet a person and know if it'll work. Which it mostly doesn't. Such an optimist. Always looking forward to. Always expecting a grand entrance or pleasant smile or warm hug. Always. Often backfires. Very often. I still say I don't have high expectations. It's different from optimism. Expectations have a negative connotation. I'm optimistic about people, situations, life, places. I'm amazed I'm not dead by now. I'm amazed I still have this. I suppose one day it will fleetingly run away under a rock, but I enjoy it. I enjoy not being too cynical. I enjoy reality most of the time. I'll see