Idioteque

Hey Graceful,
I've got what people call the 'writers block'. But I guess in my case it would make more sense if I called it the 'bloggers block' instead...,right? Since I'm no writer yet....? Is that true, that I'm not a writer? So why do I feel it so frighteningly in my bones and blood cells that I am? And what is it that I'm doing here? I feel like myself and anyone else who's ever been able to put something down on page, whether a its love letter, or a memo, should have freedom to the title "writer". So yes, we are all writers...literally. Who says nyo, John Grisham, anyone?

Ok, let's move on to a more interesting subject... Only I have none. Shame on this blocked mind of mine!
Maybe you want to hear me whine about the dream I had last night that not only made me cry this morning, but also upset my whole 'fecking' day? That I'm ready to do. It seems that's all I'm good at these days. Whining...
Yes, it seems it's always the same story with me. You are probably having piles just reading it. I'm forever on the same page. And it's so getting old...! I have exhausted the "whys" and "hows" and all the possibly sensible answers that never answered enough in the first place. Even my eyes are exhausted of creating new tears. Right now I've attacked the reserve bank. Thats where all the extra tears are kept. If that runs out, I won't be able to cry at kiki's funeral - thats my sister's hamster. It only has about 2 weeks to feast on cheese...

Anyway, after all is said and done, at least now I know that a love that was once felt so strongly lives on! It's angry blazes continue to burn you over the years, probably for the rest of your life, even from a thousand miles away. And believe me, that ain't no child's play!
I'd love to say that I won't make the same mistake again in my next life..., of loving someone so deeply at a very young age, but I'd be lying through my 31 set of teeth (I lost one tooth in some dentistry war, in case you wanna know why I only have 31 if the grinders).
The thing is, no matter how sore my heart gets over what might have been, my soul still smiles broadly that at least "there had been", "there once was". In some weird, sick sense, I enjoy all the bittersweetness of what once was. I enjoy each and every painful moment that occurs after each bittersweet thought, after each sweet-and-sour dream.... After all pain is the only connection I still have with my sweet past. The only link.
In other words, no matter how much I cry and whine about wanting to forget, deep down I know I don't want to. My silly heart doesn't want to let go, EVER!
Maybe I'm just addicted to pain...or I'm just plain cuckoo..., or maybe both...you take your pcik!

Alright, my shameless clinging to the past has become a cliche. I'm sure you are all tired of reading the same kind of senseless shite. I promise to talk about something else next time I'm in this neighbourhood. Something like why Tony Parker and Eva Longoria have already had enough of each other so soon? Or why Hart and Pink have decided to bring a defenseless, talented idiot in their old age? Yes, 32 is very old if you are having your first child.
Ok, as my sons would say after overeating, "ENOUGH mum"! So enough nonsense for today:)
*Feeling better already. Scribbling is better than vodka*