lets talk about something.. sentimental. shall we?

Alot of people ask if I have a significant other. Like..like- everyone. Co-workers, friends, family, you name it. people online ask me this, all the time. And what do I say? “Yeah. I do.” She’s a very intellectual person who hates to see my creativity go to waste; the epiphany of what I like to categorize her as the librarian-type girl. Oh yes, the type who hides behind her textbook, always their parents would be so strict on them when growing up, so the only world they know is in their imagination, or if they’re tech-literate, the internet.

And thats where I met this sweet young lady, on the internet. On a game. We didn’t exactly hit it off, we were friends first until I had to say something because the truth eats at your soul, like acid, sweet glorious acid that washes away the maskings of emotion. We like games. (No biggie there; she even classifies me as a gamer) We enjoy the occasional anime and snobby high brow esoteric-al humor which makes being a full blown nerd SUDDENLY COOL after being in high school. We’re modern age hippies, Cyberpunk Beatniks, baby. I introduced her to some neat games, and I constantly share my music, thoughts and ideas for life each and every day.

Sure I run out of things to say once in awhile, which leads to your occasional off day, or in this case a weekend’s worth of offsetting awkward frustration days, We have this bullshit-touch-and-go-guilt-trip days where we go back and forth, being sorry. “I’m sorry” “no, I’m sorry!” “no, I’m sorry!” I hate it. It’s total fucking bullshit and it’s eating up my day why are you doing this to me woman. I wanted to go play some damn tf2 this morning until we had that arguement jesus christ why don’t you let me play arrrrrrgh; FUCK@#E@FDQWIF DAMMIT LEOHN. GO TO SOUTH AFRICA YOU DOUCHE.

Well, I kinda lost there, but everyone has their flaws. I love her to death, but the woman needs to know I need to do my things once in a full blue moon, or at least for a few hours. I get clingy too sometimes, but if she wants space; I give her space. Its how it should be. Sometimes I say something in a specific type of slang or term, and I have to spend 20 minutes explaining why, why I used it, and why because of whatever. It’s okay to answer once in awhile, but seriously I feel like a dysfunctional father whom is drunk off his 5th shot of whiskey explaining how shit works to a hyperactive 4 year old who asks “whats the sky made out of” in which I reply “air, and clouds”.

You think that would end there, right? NOPE. they ask why. and why again! And for the hell of it, why once more. – It’s usually at this time I grit my teeth and say nothing’s wrong, but thats when you tell a bunch of shit is wrong, I’ve depleted so much of my day there, and if I sound like I’m upset, then you get upset and guess what, it’s the fucking “I’m sorry” multi-path-BS-paradox-timeandspaceuniverseimplode thing all over again.

We hate it. And it happens, we just let it happen too. Sometimes I think I’m a fucking moron who can’t keep his mouth shut, and she’s the saddest person, in the saddest place in the world and I can’t do diddly freaking squat to prince charming her way out of her hole in the wall country. Maybe it won’t work out. But so far I don’t think I would care much about life if she wasn’t around. I don’t think I would be here, typing. this. … I do believe I ran out of stream. and that is how you properly vent, people. learn from it.

I  love ya, Sarai. I know the wrath of my brain radiation stings, but it stings with caring sympathy.