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She said yes!

Thankyou for the /msgs of support all. /huggles to you.

A Circle of Hell:

Last week, I received a text message from an old friend, asking whether I'd be willing to part with a particular jacket of mine.

Actually, first, I should preface what I mean by "old friend," as we've been close for over 12 years. We met in high school, attended the same college, etc. 

A few months ago, a misunderstanding regarding my ex-fiance - penultimately causing a significant chunk of flesh being taken out of my back as he literally attempted to throw me out of his parents' home - resulted in my having to punch him in the face before engaging my car's handbrake and floor-boarding down his step-father's long, white-washed driveway.

The wake (or cake, rather) of Continental Touring Radial was not keenly taken-to by his family, nor was my right cross to him.

So... this particular jacket was not one I desired to give away.   As per the business student I once had been, I collected three other jackets, knowing that his demand was favorably mutually inclusive to mine.   In the long run, he settled with a hand-me-down camel hair jacket that I have always been too small to actually wear - or even tailor accordingly.  In turn, I got plant so mediocre, it should've been called Coverdale.

And if the day hadn't already sucked enough balls, upon returning to my apartment, I noticed that one of the remaining jackets contained a wad of paper in the breast pocket.   It was every love note I'd written to my ex, chronologically ordered from October 2001 until October 12, 2007.  Earlier in that mid-October week I received a call, and I had to go back home.   That "episode" did not "go" as initially expressed, but for the sake of brevity and love... well... let's just say nothing's perfect.

When I returned, it's as if my life had been turned upside-down.   I didn't live in the same apartment than when I left, and my University forced me to sit-out a semester due to my number of days absent.   Moreover, I nearly split my car into two pieces on the freeway while driving to my shrink's office, because the stress I was under had been causing fainting spells.

Then, the veritable tooth-picked olive, piercing through my ham-on-rye shit sandwich, came the afternoon I returned from my second day of class to see that my fiancee had moved-out.  She would never accept my calls again; something which I admittedly do not understand, nor have been able to comfortably accept.

Regardless, in order to relocate to a cheaper and smaller apartment, I had to remove her from the lease contract.  Because I couldn't relay this to her directly, I asked my "old friend," to do so for me... as they were " still friends." This would allow me to save $1300 in relenting fees.

He told me to "go fuck myself," and in this weird rush of startled indignation, I spit in his face; thus, cue the toss-out, et. al.


October 12, 2007

My Beautiful Baby,

I may not be home until Sunday, but I'll have my phone with me. I know you understand what I'm going through right now; things have been off-kilter, and I hope it will all work itself out soon. You know how much I love you. Please take this time to spend with yourself. I see changes in your eyes that are making me fall deeper in love every day... which makes me happier than you can imagine. I will use this time, hopefully as contemplation, and to learn to love and appreciate all over again...



A good portion of today I have lost.

I don't know how I got from 2 pm to now; I can only piece together small bits from the items lying around.

The chips and salsa I remember eating while watching television. Nurse Jackie, now I remember I watched two episodes. There's an hour, right there. A plate with crumbs on it used to have two pieces of toast, which I ate while checking email. 10 minutes. At 7 I fell asleep and woke up at 9, but it's before 7 that I'm trying to remember. I listened to music, on my computer. I know I did so, but I don't really remember doing it. Anything before 2 seems to have happened yesterday and can only vaguely be remembered.

I know this happened after smoking pot, but it's never happened before. I've always been able to remember every detail if I wanted to. This was quite strange; even the small bits of time I remember were punctuated by mini-blackouts, such as walking up stairs and forgetting the steps I took. This is what weed is supposed to do, mess up your short term memory; the more you smoke the less "readable" the memories become until you are completely lost in the present and remember nothing of the experience. It feels like a waste, why do something if you won't be able to remember it?

I don't like not knowing how I got somewhere. I remember one time I was sitting on a bench, trying to warm my hands. I had on ice skates, and my hands were icy cold. I felt like I had just woken up, even though I was sitting up so that clearly wasn't the case. I had been skating earlier, I knew that much. Logically, I would think I had fallen, but I didn't remember falling. I didn't even know where the cutoff was between the last thing I remembered and the present. I didn't even know what the last thing I remembered was, I just guessed it had to have been skating. I had not even the slightest injury, it made no sense to me then (I was 7) nor does it now.

I don't understand the people that get up in the morning, get stoned, and then carry on with their day. Does it affect them that differently, so they can still function? Is it just like a beer or a cup of coffee to them? Even if I could carry on and act normal stoned, I still wouldn't do so daily. It's a great distraction, on the weekends perhaps, but it doesn't make for a daily companion.

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