Blew my mind.

16 stitches put her right,
and her dad said, "Don't say I didn't warn yah."
Sally got married to a rock musician
she met in California.
Tommy always talks about the day
the disciples all went wild.
Sally still carries a scar on her cheek
to remind her of his smile.

Dreams of hooka, DBZ, drunken banters, ignited touches.

I miss you.

I imagine how you woke, that day.
Went out to the living room, or the table by the window.
I imagine you picked up your banjo.
So familiar, so close, like an old, dear friend.
You walked out, into the kitchen.
You sat in your chair.
Maybe with a cup of coffee.
I imagine you looking out the kitchen window
gazing out at your fruit trees
the garden.
the old buildings, the barn.

Did you watch the birds, while you drank your coffee?
Did you watch the suns rays creep over the kitchen counter, across the table,
warming you up, while the cup of coffee warmed your hands..

i can imagine you putting the cup aside, and setting the banjo on your lap.
I can see you, Brad, sitting back in that old, well worn chair..
sitting back, playing your banjo, picking away the well known chords of your songs.
You let the music surround you. you gaze out at your land. your creations.
and you smile.
you smile, and play.
That moment is all your own.
Every morning.
You played.
And every morning, you performed beautiful music, to no one but yourself.
You loved that banjo.. you loved that house.. you loved those moments in the morning.

I miss you so much, Brad.
I never got to tell you
how much I love you.
I never even kissed your cheeck.
I loved you, Brad.
And I miss you so much.
I cry, openly or silently, when you come into my heart.
Im so sorry Brad. Im so so sorry.

I wish i had been there to hold you while you died.
I wish I had been there to hold you until you were gone.
Seeing where you died.. the stain.. seeing where they left you.. knowing that they left you in there, dying.. that you curled into a ball on the ground.. oh brad.. You poor man..

I know. That you loved us. You, the mudman. You would come over to the house after being out hunting, and you would still have the camoflage mud on you.. and as kids we thought you looked so funny.. and you would chase us and scoop us up in your arms, as we squealed and laughed, trying to get away from the mud man..

Brad i wish you could have known how much you meant to me. How much i wanted to visit more often. How the moments we had on your farm and in the fields were so wonderful. YOU were wonderful. You will always be in my heart.

Times, like this.. I miss you so much I fall apart.. and I dont know how to put it all back together.. I dont know what to say, what to write, how to write it.. I wonder if you hear me.. I wonder if you are okay.. I wonder if you are still in your house.. I wonder if you can feel our love and sorrow.

Oh Brad. How my father misses you. He cried as i hugged him.. we all cried.. we waited up all night to know if you were still alive.. did you see us?

I just want to hug you. I just want to see you again. I just want you to know that I miss you.

the fact that you guys are just discovering pewds makes me laaaaaugh...

I think about him at least once a day. Wether I mean to, or not. Then the months i finally think I am free from him, he appears in my dreams. And he is still with her. I see myself floating through their place, or his place, everything the way it was when i was with him, everything the way i remember it. Except there are her things. And I look around the room, and see these things.. and I can feel him, his energy, in the room. But he isnt there. Sometimes, i dont remember the dreams until the next night. Sometimes, I wake up and it feels like he may as well be laying to my side. I hate it. I hate his essence. How dare he still make a home for himself within me. How dare i still cant push him out all of the way. Its not even HIM, anymore. Its his essence. Its the MEMORY of him. How he was. How we were. It LINGERS, it HAUNTS me. The finale, the end, the degression, the spite, the longing, the shame and guilt, the BETRAYAL... THAT. Hurts the most. The fact that he LET me believe everything was my fault. That he LET me go through that sorrow and pain.. that he left, in the blink of an eye. And i was too stupid to realize that it was because he no longer wanted me. he made it seem like he would always be there for me. But he lied. He lied, and passed it off as if it was all my doing. He, the great savior of partyers and musicians, he, the master of beastly love, the charming winner of women.. he, Mike. The coward of a man, hidden within a righteous body. He slipt away. unscathed. To fuck other women. To move on. To delete and remove and lie away any trace that we were ever a person. It is that. That. That lays within me. How many times did i apologize. Make myself look stupid. Tell myself I was a disgrace. When really, i should have been telling him, how much of a snake, how much of a beating, he had laid on my heart. How it still burns, when i touch that place in my memories. How the bruises just havent healed.. What do i do now... How do i let go... How..

WALKING DEADDDDD!!!!!!!

I got an iPad app that records any sounds you make while you sleep.

Holy man, is that thing sensitive lol.

This morning when i checked the sound files, I basically relived the alarm clock going off, and ryley getting ready for work.

BUT

I did laugh in my sleep. lol and either got mad at the cat or something i was dreaming about.

Pretty unsuccessful, overall.

But dude, I have been saying some weird stuff in my sleep for the past couple of months, and even when i dont remember what i said, i KNOW i talk in my sleep, because i wake up a teeny bit, and know that my mouth is moving.

Apparently one time, Krysta said that i was talking to someone in my sleep, but then would WHISPER the other persons lines.

She said that at first she thought I was on the phone.

whats scary is that in my dream, i WAS on the phone. lol.
And ryley and i sometimes have conversations in our sleep.
And ryley talks in russian. (no bull. His grandma taught him russian when he was seven, and even though he forgot most of it, sometimes his mom or i catch him saying random russian words lol)

If i get anything really funny i will post it.

One night ryley had to reassure me everything was fine, because i apparently kept asking where the chinchillas were (they are in the cage honey), where frando was (I said they are both in the cage!), and said i was sorry for ruining halloween (....okay its not even october hun)

"Well, you know, apparently I've heard tell that you were a slut back in the day."


Which got me to actually thinking about it:


I have had 4 boyfriends.
I have had sex with 5 people in/now out of my life.
Had 1 friend with benefits.
Had around 3 one night stands with one person.
Had around 4 acts with another.


Making long stories short, excuses mean nothing.
I did what I did because
-I was pushed to do it
-I developed "love" and attachment to that person
-I was not ready or willing to let relationships end. Even when they had ended a while ago.
-I felt self loathing
-I loved to feel LOVED. Even though I wasnt, by some of them.
-I didnt want it, but was scared of what would happen if i said no (applicable to one person)
-I loved the feeling of independence, confidence, and control that I had in those moments. I felt liberated. I felt dominating. I didnt care about pleasure. I loved the confidence that would arise. But it always left. Always left me feeling guilt and remorse.

I've been cheated on. By someone who is also considered a slut. Who has definitely been with more men than a lot of people I know.
I think of her as a slut.
But she had some of the same issues as i did.
So how the fuck can i judge that.

She says to not treat/think of people NOW as how they were in the PAST. Because people change.
But when i look at her, I think of her knowing that that man was mine. That I would never do anything like that to her. That I helped her MOVE the next day. That not a word was spoken until a year later. And that she wasnt the one to tell me.

I think of that. And i feel so angry.
But so angry at myself as well.
I never cheated on anyone.
I never WOULD.
I never WILL.
Is there a difference?
Does it matter how many people you have slept with, to make it not okay to be angry at something like that?
Does that even make sense?..

I used to think of myself as a whore.
I have been told that no, I wasnt.
That people sleep with way more than that.
But in my eyes, I was on the way to becoming a whore.
I didnt know what i wanted.

"Ill stare you down for the whore that you are"

I can see where that comes from.
I can.

everyone has to grow up at some point.
I had to shed many skins. Had to leave many things. Had to move past many sorrows.

I Only Regret One person those things involve.

Other than that,

I. Regret. Nothing.


I am who i am now because of that mess.
I am stronger, yada yada yada.
In all honesty
i have learned to stop giving a shit.
have learned that small things are small. not big.
That it is easier to move on without a second thought, now that I see things from another perspective.