Another Entry

Oddly enough, I just read the last entry. I feel pretty much the same, except now it's MJ that's doing her own thing. It's summer and she's usually out and about in the summertime. MJ's one of the last people I cling to I guess. Cling wasn't the word I was looking for. Probably one of my rocks I would say, like Corrie.

So yes, I've been feeling lonely, though now I feel alright. I wrote last night, edited a story, got a lot done. It's better staying up and not going to bed until very late. I have to remember that. I went shopping to after midnight, like a vampire but I didn't have to worry about any idiots with little children misbehaving. You know, the kind that just run around and do whatever they want and the parents just stand there looking all embarrassed and you wonder why these people have kids when they're not even old enough to bet at Vegas or shave. It's really annoying. I have nothing against the kids, more against the parents who are just like the kids. It's the whole saying "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Last night was pretty good, bought a couple of burritos to eat with my coffee. Came home, did just that. I hadn't done that in years, it felt great. I just felt at home. Hadn't felt like that in a long time. The night is my home; the day time . . . I don't know what that is. It's a painting. A painting I just walk by. It's Norman Rockwell, and I'm not much for Norman Rockwell. I like Salvador Dali. His stuff is fucked up, but isn't the world just as fucked up. It's that fucked-upness that's more real than that painted reality.

Then of course, there's Jesus. Jesus is the reality. The real reality. He is beyond the fuckupness or the painted Norman Rockwell reality. And during the past week, I thought to myself, out of everyone I know, Jesus hasn't let me down. Pretty much the only guy I can talk to. I mean sure maybe I could talk to MJ, but she wasn't home. I wished she was home, but I also want her to have a good time and not stay home just to listen to my problems.

This is where the reality is, Grieve Table.

Corrie got baptised the other week. I also realized she goes to a different church. I was invited to go to the baptism, but I work Sundays, and this past Sunday I was invited to a church carnival. Still couldn't go. Almost could. I ended up working a little later, but it would've been a rush. I would've just went to see Corrie and not for the sermon and I thought that would've been sacreligious so I didn't go, and it would've been a rush. I'd be in and out. A quick hello, a quick hug. I miss that hug, I miss Corrie. Maybe we'll see each other sometime in the future I don't know. The writing keeps me strong. That's what keeps me going. I write because I need to write, if I didn't I'd be dead.

Things are actually going well for me today. Yesterday was another story, and popping online there was nobody there to talk to, but I knew life wasn't hopeless. I just made my own destiny rather than having them make one for me. The coffee helped. Coffee is my friend.

The grief for my uncle subsides and I'm glad. I thought what would happen if his wife showed up at my work. I'd give the natural sorry and we'd all move on. Hiding behind politeness. But now the bitch is alone, and I'm kind of glad for that. Too many bitches in the world thinking they own it. It's not fun owning something where the only one in that something is just you.

I guess that's it for this entry. I'm not sure if it was a long one or a short one, but I'm okay. That I do know.