Epilogue
it's and night when it really hits me, or it could be Nothing but a Dream... on the stereo.
this time at night when i used to think about her*, the things she said, or wrote, or the giggles or all the other things that charmed me so.
But i can't do that any more. It's not right, I don't have the right anymore.
It's called the "Fuck you!" penguin now, just for that final passive-aggressive release before sleep.
Alsmot there. A bourbon Night. A Tequila Night. Some retail therapy. One night alone drinking and sulkin thinking, flirting aimlessly and pathetically with friends and acquaintances - pathetic like a cockroach wandering about without a head, you know, "poor dumb critter, and then it lost it's head." hee :)
Have a couple of things left to do - watch High Fidelity, play a lot of pool, spend too much money... it's a little sad that i have got a recovery plan, that i know i can just work thru to get functional again.
* not i that way, you know? Just the way i organise my thoughts before i sleep - happy stuff, good stuff first. Good stuff.
But now it's all good stuff washed with blue.