| When I grow up I'll have lovebirds. Always a pair, they're too lonely alone. I want to buy that bird (is he for sale?) and find him a friend. When you begin to want death you gain more respect for those who don't. I just helped a cockroach who couldn't get rightside up. I am a friend of bugs now, it seems. Might as well be. You never know when the bugs will be your only friends. Besides, like I said- I respect things that want their lives. If I was flipped over and couldn't get up I'd just lay there. This thing was pawing at the air like mad. I think you assume everything would be the way it was, good and bad parts. It can't, it won't, so don't. Don't think of it that way. Nothing could ever be the same, even if we tried. Airports always remind you of other airports. Can we go to Ireland again? That was fun. My back and shoulders are still oh-so-sore, and burnt now, and I'm carrying too-heavy bags. I'll have to take Shane up on that massage he owes me, if my skin heals in time. I feel sick. Nauseas- and we're not flying (not that I get airsick anyway). and everything I look at (people's peeling burns) and think about (...well, you know) makes me feel iller. And so tired. So sore. Well Mexico was lovely I suppose- but the train ride in the Atlanta airport (AHH! The deep south!) reminded me and confirmed for me taht I'll live in London. Dublin's nice too, maybe I'll live there when I'm too old to enjoy London's "scene." Or perhaps the countryside in either country. So pretty. And a vacation house in Tuscany. I wonder how I'll afford this. Goodnight everyone, we're descending back into cold ugly Detroit. Chicago, the movie, not city, though I like the city, looks good (advertisements on the planeovision). I'll have to see if Max still wants to see it. I don't know what I want you to say in response to this. Just tell me that you read it, if you do. And anything else you want to say but not "I'm sorry". I hate the "I'm sorrys" that you don't mean, and the helpless "I wish there was something I could do", that's silly, there is, it's just that neither of us expects it. Don't lie blatently. I hate the permanufactured sugar coated tolerant responses. I don't want apology unless it's a real one, and a real apology is an action, not "I'm sorry you're sad and I really mean it." I don't want pity answers, or any of your condenscending "I'll tolerate you like I do a whiny 3 year old" crap. I'm being painfully honest with you and all I'll accept in return is honesty, so say something honest, say what you feel, say something that means something (don't you always want to?), show me that I've gotten through to you, that you hgear me, or just tell me that "I read it, I hear you, I won't ignore you and it made me think, about what you have to say, because I respect you and am not just humoring you," because I hate being humored, it's the highest form of insult. Or just say you read it. (and notes from today, the day after the trip) I hope you like your rubberband. Think of me when you wear it, and think of the huge feat of submission and abandoning of hope it symbolizes. I was going to save it for...better days. I experienced the nausea phenomenon again- the thought of the two of them really DOES literally make me sick. I didn't know it was possible. Sometimes I lose sight of what all this is for. Just now I forgot how I felt about anything, writing this. It all seems silly. And I don't feel anything right now, just sort of tired and not wanting to do or feel anything. I don't have a goal because I don't know what my goal is... My pants arrived in the mail. Hallelujah. When I get my Mexico pictures back I'll put them here. Til then... |
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