Sunday, Aug. 06, 2006
7:22 a.m.
<< [ This is Probably Much Longer Than it Should Be ] >>
I said, "You have no idea."
My sins have come back to haunt me and he's giving me a lecture.
"Killing yourself is not going to help much."
"I'm not killing myself."
"Please. It's not far off."
"Do you know how long people can go without food? Upwards of forty days."
I pause.
"And I don't hate her, we've been over that."
"So stop being a shit to her."
Here he starts yelling.
"STOP BEING A SHIT TO A FRIEND WHO ONLY WISHES TO HELP YOU!"
"..."
"Ha, and you claim not to be a fool."
My tactics change, this is not how I'm going to win.
"Why are you defending her? Why the fuck do you care? All you have to do is stop talking to her and it's not your problem anymore. You know that."
"Well no shit! You think I hadn't figured that out. I'm defending her because I agree with her."
Beneath my skin I can feel my heart, beating, beating, beating, and then beating beating beating. Sometimes it scares me. Sometimes it reminds me of a story my friend wrote in which the protagonist commits suicide via a pill that slows the heart. He listens to his heart the whole day, literally, and at the end of the story he lays down and dies, although he calls it taking a vacation.
Last night out of nowhere he asked, "Want to go to Barnes and Noble?" And last night, out of nowhere, I said, "Sure."
We laughed and he yelled at me and we laughed some more. We (I) made noise in a book store and giggled about comics and when I stood up, he was concerned, because I can't stand up without a head rush anymore. He went though my CDs and picked the soundtrack to Mortal Kombat; we're the only two people we know that own it. The streetlights reflected in his glasses and his smile.
I am only causing pain, but I've solved so many problems for myself.