vomiting in the journal

"I can trust you not to do anything stupid?"

Those are the words she basically left me with. There were some hugs and kisses and that cute stuff before she got into the truck and drove away. But that's about the thick of it.

Not. To do. Anything. Stupid.

Sort've..... makes one aware. Doesn't it.

I mean, sure it stems from not being left alone Sunday night because my expert preparedness to take a .45 and try to see how much blunt trauma it would take to shove that bullet right through my fucking skull at some point on Sunday afternoon.

Yes. It was the big "I'm not happy you're not happy you'll never be happy why did I waste ten years of your life" type of blowup. Or, as I phrased it to a close, fluffy, friend:

oh yea, total meltdown why did I waste 10 years of your and my lives trying to hold on to something that I wasn't happy with, I'm not happy now, never will be, I was hoping to get through the move without getting to this point but apparently NOW is the time for everything to melt down because I'm doubtnig us, doubting you, doubting we should waste our time moving in to the new place because nothing will work out, i won't be happy, so you will never be, let's solve everything, hand me my .45 so we can stop fighting and get it over with, oh you've finally realized i'm perfectly fucking serious and will help me? good, now the plan is that I will be happy even if it means breaking every bone in my body to make me cooperate because -you- have invested 10 years and will make it work out and you're not leaving me alone for the rest of the day, that's good, i hate you for making me laugh when i'm in the middle of all this beautiful anguish, this beautiful hatred, this neverending rage, i love you, we need cigarettes.

That sort of meltdown. In a nutshell. I guess I had forgotten the gravity of that situation until right before she left today.

"I can trust you not to do anything stupid?"

-Yea, all's cool now, go help your brother.

"Okay, well, I have the bullets just in case, they were in that box."

A hairdryer box. Good idea. Last placed I would have looked. I find a poetic irony in that...... as they were in the box of something you point at your head. Something so obvious and fitting that you just walk right past it and start ripping drawers out of the chest, flinging clothes about, because you are sure SURE that you heard bullets rattle at some point in time inbetween Creation and NOW and you only need one to get the job done, so if you can find just that one everything will suddenly.

be.

silent.

How can you love someone so much when you're with them, then the minute you're apart start wondering where the fuck is it going? Where has it gone?

Is this what they call cold feet? Pre-move jitters? It's an entirely new level in the commitment because we're not going to be sorta half-living with someone we know. We'll be all alone. By ourselves. I sometimes wonder if I'll get tired of her. Be telling her to go away, leave me alone. Get the fuck out of my house for a a few god forsaken hours.

I spew forth all this hatred, directed at that reflection when I stand in the bathroom. Then scream in the mirrow "WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, MAN?!"

Today we played. Had fun. Her mom called at 10am...... and we figured might as well stay up, things to do today, and she had to go help her brother paint while I stayed here and attempted wrapping my head back around school. She bothered me. She sang. She poked at me. The grunting monster beneath the blanket swiped an unsteady paw. She stood there, naked, then whipped the blankets off of a now very cold and naked me, I...... sort've.... maybe..... shreiked and grabbed a pillow for modesty. We both burst out laughing.

So there is my voice of reason. Reality check, extraordinare. Reminding me things like that do still happen and it's just the stress of the move on everyone that's making me doubt and question the way I do. I've even been doubting my writing ability, that it's degenerated. I used to be happy, even impressed, with what I'd churn out of seemingly nothing.... and now it's just..... dribble. It's flat. Boring. Lifeless.

I used to be able to charm with a single phrase.

DS says I'm doing just fine. But that's DS. Of course she will say that. She has that best friend ability to look past one's flaws and still say "yes, you are my hero." or something of the like as I am sitting here wallowing in..... not self-pity...... but self-delusion?

...of Granduer? I wish.

I would like to think I'm something special right now. I need to accomplish something. But.... everything I do.... is pittance. No real big yes I did that now all of you tremble before me accomplishment.

I'm even intimidated by this game I'm going into. I figure if it's burnout. I take off the viking horned admin helmet of doom, set it aside, and 'vacation' on another site with some new characters that are out of the norm for me. A change will sort've clear everything out, right? Do something different. Do something irresponsible. Do something really fucking spontaneous.

So why am I intimidated? Sure, the player that I'm packing a Black Spiral Dancer with is the the player I've always wanted to grow up to be and have respected for years. Others that are drawing into the pack have either played for eons, or are up there on the same caliber.... and here I am, not exactly knowing what I'm doing, all my books to learn from are packed, therefore winging it completely, and will probably end up being more comic relief than any support whatsoever for this beautiful idea they have. I'll admit I've come up with a pretty complex, interesting, and outright nifty character.

But can I pull it off?

Or should I just slither back into my own corner and stop trying to play with the big boys. It's the move, right? The little aftershocks of that singular earthquake are dribbling out to affect each and every other thing in my life, causing me to doubt, and if I can pull through it, it'll smooth out and return to normal when I'm not anticipating the move, or what could go wrong with it, anymore, and realize how silly I was being.

The little voice of reason again. I hear it. I know what it's saying.

I also wonder how much dope it's smoked behind my back.