After being in really good company the last few days, I realized I don't need a male companion. I haven't successfully been my own, legitimate companion in a really long time. (And I probably haven't been the best successful companion to my family and platonic friends either). I should work on that before I work with someone else. Butttt then here come the texts.. like clockwork, even. Sorry I shoot you down, but it's more logical to do that then get blown to bits in the near future. I refuse to be a secret slay, my dear. And I refuse for you to be my completely public slay. And for some reason, I still don't think you are shitty. In fact, I think I am more.
Nick's friend from his old work died this morning. I say "friend" and smile because she was in her 80's and somehow infiltrated my brother's hard exterior and really touched his soul. He's devastated and refuses to show it because he's a Mazzi and we just don't do that. All I could say to him was "Are you okay?" He didn't answer and merely ranted about his shitty day at work. We haven't experienced death in awhile. Jackie passing away tore us up inside. I still dream of her and my stomach hurts. Every funeral since then, I've seen her and only her in the casket. Not saying I wasn't paying all my respects to Rob and Mr. Besch.. but I don't think I'll ever forget the utter loss I felt when she left. I see her everywhere, in everything. Sometimes hanging out with Courtney is brutal because we both feel the same thing, and we both know it. Phyllis isn't even having a wake or funeral, just a party at the old Cricket Club. It's very fitting because she was a vivacious, classy, party animal.
Fuck. I hate the whole dying part of life.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment