Nuts

So hey, you know, who knows. I spoke with her last night, mostly because she needed to talk to somebody. It's a long story and it's not what you think. Besides, even if it was what you think, the fact that I can make a friend laugh when they are crying is a skill I consider to be right up there with ballet, spelunking, or spelling. It's what I do. My trademark move. yadda yadda yadda.

So here's the deal - I'm not getting any of the Lori. No one is. Well maybe she is, but I really don't think so. And I'm ok with that. Really. Doesn't mean that I stopped Missing Lori though.

Name Change

I should change the name of this blog to "I Miss My Ball Sack", because it's gone, I can't find it. I pinched it last week - so I know I had it then. But since then, it's gone. I haven't seen it, or more importantly felt it.

Memories

OMG, I am such a retarded loser. My timing couldn't have been worse. I feel like shit. And the best part is, well there is no best part. There's only crappy parts, some are gristly, some are chewy, some are stinky.

Seriously. I don't mean to insult retarded folks, who are probably way smarter than me at this moment. What was I thinking? Why did I send a letter like that? Why did I even think it?

She didn't get too upset or angry or anything like that, but it arrived 2 hrs after her dissolution of marriage thing or whatever, which as you all know is PRIME TIME to be laying out your feelins and jotting down quirky love notes to someone who thought they were your friend.

God I'm so stupid. Someone save me from myself. Oops, too late. The Idiot Dirty Bomb went off, and now I'm infecting everyone. Check your skin for blotches and if your tongue tastes like battery acid, chances are you are collateral damage.

Damnit. I love her and instead of helping her, i pull some stupid stuntish thing. Gosh! Idiot!

But I love her.

Why This Exists

It exists because i say it does. Because I miss my friend Lori. She was more than a friend, but less than a something else.

No matter the details that left me standing on this edge.

Now I'm somewhere else, listening to sad music, and I'm not 15 or 20 or even 25 anymore. I'm too old for this type of melancholy I think.

I mailed her a letter last week. A hand-written 4 page letter in fact. In it, I expressed how much I miss her, and exactly what she meant to me. I apologized for the letter being 6 years or so late. I wrote it at work, walked it over to the post office. I didn't think I'd mail it. I really didn't. I mean, I intended to, obviously (hence the stamp and envelope), but I thought I'd do the safe thing. Not send it. Tuck it away some where, along with my feelings. Be the better person. Be who I think I'm supposed to be. But that's not who I am inside. I don't have time for this.

As the song says, "It's gonna be a glorious day, I feel my luck could change..."

Pull me out of the aircrash, pull me out of the lake, because I'm your superhero.

More to come, this should be interesting, if not entirely horrible to watch go down.