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I might start writing stories again; I maybe shouldn't have written this. what was intended: consolidate files from old desktop onto one hard drive and transfer said hard drive into my new computer, leave the other two hard drives in the old computer, and send that off to be recycled the way it went: the old hard drive wouldn't even have been compatible, which I realized only after I'd apparently fried the power supply in the old computer. Oh well, took out all the hard drives, put the skeleton of the old computer into a box to be shipped off into the ether. Now, with the old computer out of my closet, there's space for things! Things! Shoes, and those two crates that were stacked in my room! And: what's in this crate? Oh yay, it's some notebooks and my favorite old journal and some notepads from work which I start reading and run into this:
and I laugh - remember this? Recording everything Robert said at work? I laugh, I take the notepad and run to the computer to talk to you but manage to stop myself and instead go outside to move the sprinkler. So I hear Seattle's having a gray summer. So are you going to Rob's wedding and with weddings in the air I always wonder when I'll hear news of you and her. The last thing I wrote in that notepad was this: "I have taken to not eating breakfast. Lunch is a chore. The absence of you makes me sick." Hey, remember when I got shitfaced at Kevin's party because I hadn't eaten for three days because of something someone had told me about you and her? Ha ha, remember that? Ha ha. Hey, remember how you were suddenly such an asshole to me for no apparent reason? Remember how you wanted me to promise we'd still be friends, no matter what happened? Remember when you cried in my bed and I told you I just wanted you to be happy? Remember? Do you? Do you remember, because I do. I remember what I want to remember. One morning a few months ago I woke up early and heard the early morning birds singing and I remembered how I used to not be able to sleep. I can sleep now, you assholes. I'm better off without you, no denying that. (What if you can say the same? Don't tell me that.) I will stack up my accomplishments and I will know that I did it all myself, that I bulldozed through it all myself, that you were no help you were only more shit to get through, you - remember when I told you that you'd become just another turd on the enormous pile of shit that my life had become? How could you not laugh at that? Anyway, whatever, you suck because you won't talk to me anymore. You are lame, fuck you, and I'm not talking to you either.
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