The title

The title of my blog is misleading. I'm assuming if you check this then you'll want to know what is happening in my life. Truth be told, I'm hardly writing in this thing anymore because if I did write about all my events, feelings, whatever, I would be at it all day. So why don't you write about the important stuff? Well, I can't. I've got no filter. I can't prioritize. That shit's hard!

Cop-out.

But, hey, you wanted to know? There you go.

I feel like writing a poem. On Craig's list they have poems written by desperate people. They are about real pain and, as kind of a twisted perversion of emotion, are heartbreakingly bad.

But hey... At least they are having interactions with people that are breaking their hearts. Good for them. I'm content to stare at the ground and pretend I'm to good for human interaction. Not like I'm craving it or anything. (Dripping with sarcasm...obviously)

"I love the sound of tires running along wet pavement.". she said with her head on his chest.

She had been lying there, one ear to his breath, the other--ignoring the TV's droning voices-- focused on sound of pavement's moistness.

"Hmm? Ah... yeah, me too."

"Really? When I was young...", but was ssshhed before she was through.

In the beginning his eyes were bright, his smile wide and sincere. Now...

Now it's time to sever
all the many years we walked together,
all the sunsets dipped in heather,
all the star fields foraged through,
all the times I confided in you,
all the mornings in our bed,
the sun golden guilded our heads.

The sound of wet tires washed me through,
and now I will be done with you...

She raised herself up off him
smiled and said,

"I'm getting a sandwich. You want another beer?"