You know that walking around the room, looking for something that you know in your right mind probably still isn't there. You do it without much forethought, and you can't stop picturing the exact spot you left it ... whatever it was.
And I'm feeling stupider and more guilty by the minute, because if there are any ghosts watching me right now, I just know that they are having just as hard a time looking at me as I am looking for it.
And I know all too well that I should just stop it.
Just motherfucking stop it.
Let's recap, shall we?:
My mother's dead.
My father's dead.
My aunt's dead.
All of the pets I've had over the years are dead.
And, for all intents and purposes, at this time in my life, I might as well be dead too.
I didn't drink.
I didn't blow fat rails of coke up my nose.
I didn't roll good weed up and get high as a kite.
But I took some pills.
Some bad pills.
And you know what?
They made me feel awful.
How's about that?
I took them because a man called my last name from around the corner of my house as I was crying my eyes out and handed me an envelope.
I scribbled a "name" on it and ran inside and took some.
And now, a week later, they are all gone.
And my aunt is still dead.
In fact, I went and picked her ashes up at the funeral home today and put them alongside my mother's.
And now I'm going to lay down on the couch that is across from both urns and hope that they can get together on this and come up with a suitable penance.
I don't want the damn things anymore.
They've only caused me trouble.
And now they're feeding the bacteria in the sewer like they should have a week ago.
I apologize to me
I apologize to them.
I apologize to you.
And I hope this makes a difference, no matter how small.
Thanks for reading,
And on we go ...