Is that supposed to be enough?

I rarely dream about people I know, but last night I dreamt about you.

Which is funny, really, considering your role in my life at this point. You don't have a role anymore, so why am I dreaming of you?

Evidently we were somewhat neighbors, you living about two houses down. I could see into your backyard and you could see into mine. I didn't know it was you until I looked over one day and you shot me the bird. From both hands. With your girlfriend (presumably) snickering behind you. You were both too far away to really see your features, but I knew it was you.

Is truth stranger than fiction?

Needless to say, I woke up confused.

To say I think about you wouldn't necessarily be fact. Rather, I think about all of the little aftershocks that knowing you has put into my life. You may not be the straw to the camel's back but you certainly gave me a healthy sense of paranoia. Because of you, I am unforgiving of people's minor slipups. Because of you, I second guess. Not to say I didn't do it before, but now it's the extra gravy on the potatoes.

I shouldn't have let you get me that far, and that's my fault. I should have dug my feet into the mud and focused on something else, but my affection is stronger then my resolve. At least, it used to be. But I'm not putting it all on you. As a President's wife once said-no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, and I pretty much gave you my consent. My defenses were weakened, and I still struggle with building them back up.

I am not saying you are a bad person. I am not saying you did it on purpose-God, I hope you didn't. I like to think you were just oblivious. Maybe I'm an idiot for thinking so, but being angry at you for not being a mind-reader is not going to do me any good.

I hope you're doing well, and that you're happy, and if you think about me at all I hope it doesn't involve two middle fingers.

But if it does, I suppose it is what it is.

Went to Biloxi this past weekend. Got a room. Enjoyed the fact that the A/C went down into the 50's. Beautiful weather. Rode the coast, ate a good Cuban sandwich. Ate at Half Shell, got an excellent steak, cajun boiled new potatoes, cheddar grits, Cosmo. Slept. Thought. Watched Hocus Pocus when I woke up. Stopped at bookstore on way out, outlet mall, got an old Sega game and some earrings. Got home. Slept.

Every day, I think about running away. There are only a few strings holding me here and they are strong, but I'm beginning to worry that sooner or later, those strings won't matter. I usually don't like to run away from my problems...they always gain on me, no matter what I do, but I see no way out without splitting myself into four, and I barely have one of me left.

I have cried, I have begged, I have sat in my bathtub (always the bathtub) and seethed over the stupidity and timing and just outright waste of it all. Of me.

I'm trying not to, but I can't help but wonder-

what if what I have to give

is a waste?

What if it's like poisoned Halloween candy, and I shouldn't give it out?

I know it's self-defeating, and I hate myself for thinking so.

but all I can go by is what I've seen and heard

And it's not good fucking news.

in GOOD news-

red starbursts are great

bohemian rhapsody this friday with the crew

nanny is bringing riley to see me at work later today.

I have to keep remembering

that all of this is temporary.

everything is.

-Rae