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2*15*01

Purely ranting

I'm topsy-turvy-upsidedown-like. I NEED TO TALK TO PATRICK! PATRICK, WHERE ARE YOU?! I attempted to call him today, but there was no answer. Well, yesterday Jason said I should:

  • either get some boxing gloves and a punching block

OR I:
  • should get really, really wasted.
How bout both at the same time? Sounds like some good 'ol fashioned dangerous fun. I'll just stick to beating the hell out of myself physically various other ways. It is the only way I can see straight. I miss Emily too. Well, I saw her yesterday and on Monday night (at a hilarious dinner with her and Saingbey), but I miss talking to her. I miss a lot of people right now. I'm not ignoring them the way I did before. Cripes, I am so sorry for the past and my actions (or lack of).

I'm just going to say this once...that I'm sick of Valentine's Day. It's the 15, the day AFTER Valentine's Day. Just get over it. The day is gone. And so am I.











11:14 A.M.
There are pictures of us hanging in my head, hauting me like words with no meaning. *You* were there to catch me when I fell. How can I repay my debt to *you? Incredible, we are...two beings alone together in a world without a single soul to disturb the peaceful sleep we call love. *You* are different, special in ways undescribeable. I, well, I am just different. Not ordinary, no?

Maybe I'm not being nurturing to thine eyes which claim to see so much beauty. Is it that I am not understanding enough, am I stupid, lame, what? Can thee not understand what is reality and what is idealism? Yes, your words and thoughts are beautiful. But what is even more beautiful is the harsh reality that stings you so. This love has boundaries, this love is restricted to a form in which interactions cannot be made in the ways thee wants it so. I'm sorry. Everything will move on while thy wallowing in saddness will consume thee to a point where turning back seems far too impossible. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for thee.












1:37 P.M.
Brandon's dad robbed a White Hen the other day, well, yesterday. I don't know why I feel like writing about it, but he robbed a White Hen. He drove the getaway car while the other guy was inside attemting to rob the store with a BB gun (or rifle). I thought he was kidding. I thought it was a joke. It's real. It's in the paper. All this illegal stuff happening...I don't know what's going to happen with work and last week's mishaps with Mac. Shit, work's so fucked up. Everything about it is bass ackwards.

"There is no such thing as common sense at Rainbo..."

It's true. We don't allow that there. You think you know people, yunno? Shit hits the fan, spewing all over the room tainting the walls a dirty, smelly brown. Mac didn't break my trust, I could care less what he chooses to do in terms of what used to be his workplace. Stupid decisions...I'm great with those.

I don't think I've spoke of Shamiran, I mean honestly spoke truly of her. I know her name's been thrown around here and there in a few entries, but she needs to be known for the absolutely wonderful person that she is. One tough cookie, that kid. She puts up with so much crap, from work, from school, from people, from everything. She tolerates so much of it, she's so patient. She ranks second position on my list of "Strong People I Know". She's sweeter than Sugar in the Raw, and she has a heart the size of the universe. Which reminds me...I still haven';t gotten her a birthday present. I'm terrible. She's almost always happy, and if she's hurt or upset, I know it's something huge. I've heard her cry, I've seen her face tear stained and reddened, but I have never seen her tears. She likes to talk...a lot. An incredible, bubbly Sham-I-Ran...she makes working retail a helluva lot better.



regress /progress



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