I need to stop thinking.

I think about the stupid shit that happened 3 years ago.. a dream I had, later it would turn out to be one of the biggest nightmares of my life to this point.

Nobody ever said I was sane.

The end of an era ~ it happens in all things. My mom has her own era that is ending as I have my own era that has ended. I prolonged my own end tho. Nobody knows my mom's pain, and nobody knows mine. It's all good, this is the conclusion and everything ends eventually. Some people extend the inevitable and never really realize the fullness of the situation until it happens to them, and then they cannot deal with it.. Crack. Failure. Falling apart.

Maybe I don't know mine.

Fast forward to 2008

I remember driving my Dad to Pizza Hut to go get some stuffed cheese pizza things. I did a fine job that day with the clutch. Dad never noticed which I guess was an approval rating. Thank goodness for those long easy to drive Toyota clutches. The food was ok, but not spectacular. My Dad's wallet had not changed since I last saw it, overstuffed, black leather, too many items.

I remember way too many details and I just cannot quite make them all come together into a cohesive whole.

So melodramatic, so emo once again. Fuck it.

6   472   2.22%   472   2.69%   30565   1.33%   4   0.48%

Peanut Brain

Thinking about checking the stats, she's been at it again. I wonder why in the world she still insists in looking at the site. I suppose there's some sort of yearning there. Even though I don't like the thought, she knows she lost something as well. Hrmmm. Her loss, my loss. Are they the same? I don't know the answers here. She still continues and I have intentionally forgotten to remember. I always had such a way with words, but words are not enough to explain what's going on inside the peanut brain.

Meanwhile. Her new website project seems to be petering out. She has not posted in a month. Pretty good for a content driven site /sarcasm. I guess it's kinda hard talking about yourself under the guise of Bento Boxes. She should just go back to plain blogging about herself. It might be more productive. :/

One Day

One day it just stopped hurting and I felt no need to think about her. And then I'm at it again, thinking about her, her smell her body her sex. That's the power of the pussy talking to me. It's not really love, or is it? I don't have the answers any more and it frightens me, this vast emptiness I used to call my life. It's strangely peaceful. There is something broken deep inside there and I don't know quite how to fix it yet. Or whether I really want it to be fixed? I don't feel it anymore for anyone and that's a scary place to be for me.