I know, I know, I should be shot (my lovely catch phrase these days), BUT! I have been extremely busy. Things in the last month or so have been, pretty much hell, and trying to catch up on everything is seemingly worse off then I thought possible.
A lot of things have changed in my life, in the last month.
On December 22, 1996, my grandfather died. It was with the passing of his life, that I suddenly became more of a recluse into my own world then I thought was possible.
Author: pookiebear
nuffin’
So many thoughts are racing through my mind. I have spent the last week trying to rebuild my computer after it died on me last Sunday. I had lost everything in the process of this crash, including all files and emails sent to me by ppl I care about. I often bitch about how important it is to keep everything backed up, but yet when Adam asked me if I wanted to keep anything before we reformatted my HD, it was a sincere ‘No!’.
And so, today, trying to get things straightened out, I had found the disk I had made before Michael and I had met. On it is everything he has sent me, such as the wavs and some various letters before we got email hooked up for him. I found the original picture of him on another disk as well.
I cried.
In the midst of all this “finding”, I had been currently ‘playing’ with 2 guys on a channel in IRC. I was not interested, the guys were more interested in each other I suppose, but, I typed a line every five to ten minutes to keep them appeased. Suddenly, I got sick to my stomach, and logged off. I just couldn’t take it.
Been keeping Michael off my mind as much as possible, but seeing that picture hurt. Thinking about *then* and *now* and thinking about how happy he made me feel inside, to feel someone that spiritually and soully (sp?) close to you, and then having it taken away. Its pain can not be matched by any other.
Found this letter I had written to Michael, but I am not sure if I had sent:
Michael,
Good Morning 🙂 I woke up so incredibly late that I had not made it to my eye doctors appointment. The story of my life…always running a little bit more late then the average person 🙂
So after doing the “what the hell am I going to wear scene”, I am sitting here smoking a cigarette and I thought that I would get started on writing to you excerpts from my journal.
Background:
I have always kept a journal at one point or another. But it has only been in recent years that I have been a little bit more consistent with my diary keeping. In the last 6 months, most of my thoughts and my ideals have been translated onto paper, and then on to the web. A few exceptions would be a few poems that I had written and put on the web via electronic means. There is no hard copy of said items. Just beautiful images that appear on your computer screen.
12-23-95
2:55 am
I can’t stop from thinking. I can’t stop the screams, the painful screams of agony. Live is playing on the stereo. I can’t stop thoughts that try to creep in my brain.
It hurts.
My mind is racing at speed that can never be calculated. I listen, over and over to the beat. I need something loud. I have to stop thinking.
I can’t take it anymore.
I threw in NIN, Pretty Hate Machine. I can’t take it. Trent can take away the pain.
What pain is that?
I wish I knew, my friend. I wish I knew.
My mind is filled with disease.
I have a horrible suspicion that my IQ is higher then what I’ve been told.
I wish it would just go away.
Trent is squeaking in my ears, cigarette smoke floating in my eye’s. Diet Coke in my veins.
God, this paper is so virgin. I can’t take it. I must fuck it up with scribbles. Someday someone will read this and think I was on crack. Maybe I am on drugs. I’m to damn high on life or something.
Images like movie clips rush through my mind. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t think. I don’t want to think. I just want to do. I just want…
12-23-95
8:50 PM
Its another long night. I can feel it.
I woke up at 1pm. I have no energy to do anything but mope around the house. I can’t wait till Tuesday! Time is flying soo slow.
I listen to the radio a lot. Heard about every damn song that existed. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I do not know how I feel about that. I guess nothing. I guess I am, me.
Then and now.
Then and now.
My stomach aches when I think about this past year. Re-reading diary entries from the past, and still feeling the same damn way. Still feeling a[lone], and still feeling so damn hopeless and helpless about everything.
Michael’s namesake, Mierlyn, is crouched below my feet as I write this. Curled up next to the thingy where you plug all your computer equipment in (I have forgotten the name). Nothing feels right, nothing feels good, nothing feels eternal. And if I close my eyes, I can still see the look on his face the day we met. I can still see and smell him.
Michael, I miss you so much.
nothing
I am not sure how to begin this, but I guess anything goes.
Yesterday was Michael’s birthday, and he turned the ripe old age of 22. He’s still on my mind quite a bit, considering that we have been broken up for over 2 weeks.
My dad is on the phone with me now, discussing his will with me. He is 69 years old, and is in ill health. He is telling me that no one can know who the executor of his will is because its locked up safe and sound. I am not even going to go there.
I am talking to one of my oldest friends on the net, nobody-. He and I used to write this really lengthy letters to each other, and then it stopped.
I miss Michael. The name “Michael” itself seems to be a recurring name in my life. nobody- s name is Michael and so is mierlyn’s. My publisher’s name is Michael, and so is my long lost cousin from Australia. Plus there is the handful of Michaels that i have dated in rl, and so on and so on.
So I think I am going to stay away from Michael’s for a while. Well, actually, stay away from men in general.
It’s pretty hard. My roommate and I have been messing around, but after throwing up on him the other day, that was pretty much over with. It’s funny though how i can take myself away from that so easily, just detach myself, and think of nothing while I am going through the motions of “making love.
I care not who I am with, I care not whose body I am stroking, I care not who I am being intimate with. It does not matter to me.
