Wow. I had something completely different planned to write about tonight (Jokes! Who tells jokes anymore? Do people still tell jokes? Discuss and get back to me.), but instead my mind got redirected when I heard a song that reminds me of my ex, The Great Love of My Life (the song? Shame on Me, by The Wilkinsons). Three years ago yesterday, we had our last �normal� night together before our relationship began its slow (and often, quite painful) unraveling. I glanced back at some of the entries that I had written in my old online diary that was about him (felicityp for all of you old-timers) and marveled at how far I�ve come since then. I don�t get the sucker-punch-to-the-gut feeling that I used to when I would read them. Now, it�s more of an �Ouch!� and, �Wow, I was really hurting back then,� reaction. A whole "Fancy that" sort of thing. Which is great � it�s where I should be after all of this time. But then, sometimes I�ll find some things that I wrote that didn�t make the diary and be reminded of why they didn�t. Some were just too painful, like the one that I wrote when I got home after our break-up and was still sobbing so much that I could only write about 5 sentences. Then there�s the opposite end of the spectrum.

I don�t know what kind of vapors I was sniffing the day I decided to try to write a little short piece about the night we broke up, but they must have been pretty toxic. I found the thing tonight and it was just so�BAD. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to write it as a little story, told in the third person. I don't know who was writing that thing, but it was just WAY overboard and too, too much. See, when I wrote my diary about The Boy, it was just me venting and puking out my emotions and just getting it out. I didn�t care about coherence or quality or anything � it�s probably what made it some of the best writing I�ve ever done in my life. It was just real. Not in the case of my little story idea. It reads like it was written by an angst-ridden 14 year old who watches WAY too much of The WB. I�m embarrassed to even have the thing still in the �My Documents� folder. Who, me? No, I didn�t write that! And since I do nothing if not share my shame with all of you folks, I decided to pick out some choice moments from my little writing experiment for your amusement. Shall we?

She stood there in the freezing cold, staring down at her shoes for what seemed like an eternity. As she lifted her head, she could see his arms shivering from the brisk night air. She reached up and gently brushed his cheek with her hand. She shook her head and looked sadly into his eyes as she finally got the words out. �I love you, you know.�

�Please don�t say that,� he pleaded. He grabbed her and clutched her tighter than he ever had before. The tormented look on his face before he hugged her caused her to cry even harder when she fell into his arms. He kissed her as they parted.

Are you gagging yet? And why do I not remember writing any of this shit? It�s probably a good thing that I don�t. It�s like bad Harlequin all up in this joint. Ready for more?

He was plagued, but he had to let her go... He stood there for a moment more, watching his breath penetrate the dark air with thin clouds. Once her tail lights faded out of view, he turned his back on her for the last time.

DUN DUN DUN!!! Cheese tray, anyone?

She didn�t hear it that night, but the moment that he said goodbye there was a crack inside of her� Weeks went by and pieces would break off, leaving jagged edges stained with the dried blood of her hope.

The dried blood of her hope? The hell? Seriously, what was I smoking? Ooh, in the next part, I use the word �rainshower.� No, I really do:

�Goodbye.� And with that one word, the thread of glass that was holding all of her hope together gave way, sending a rainshower of shards to the ground.

�Rainshower.� It�s not even a word! Rain shower, Pam. Actually, not even Pam. I think I�m addressing Bizarro Pam here with this hideous prose. Hey, at least I ended it on a big dramatic note:

She didn�t know it until now, but those little pieces of glass were the beginning of what was to become the mosaic of her life. She also knew that she would be adding to it again someday, for she now realized that once you are broken, you finally become real.

Um�testify? Someone call 7th Heaven, because I am ready. No, better yet, get me a �tween show on the Disney Channel to write for. Ooh, even better � I�ll create my own. I�ll call it �Rainshower.�

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In other news, who tells jokes anymore? Do people still tell jokes?

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In even other news, tomorrow starts what I am now calling �The Great Hanson Caper.� Stay tuned....

Amazon.com Taunt of the Week: I got an e-mail advising me of a slight title change on my pre-order from last week, which I think was really just a veiled taunt since the title changed by about one word and I think it was 'the.' Mainly, I think the folks at Amazon just sent it to me to bust my balls and be all, "Really? You pre-ordered this? Are you sure?" But really, how could I have not gotten in my pre-order for Trapped in the Closet: Chapters 1-12? Dude, I'm waiting at the mailbox every day for that shit. Pure genius!


before & after





2007-09-26 - Follow Me!
2006-09-30 - Site Move & Favorite Entries
2006-09-25 - Evil Easter Bunnies & Rock Climbing!
2006-09-22 - Shameful-Purchase Hiding & A New Dentist Plan
2006-09-19 - Birthday Picture/Video Diary & The Wheelmobile





Copyright 2003-2006 by Sockgirlie. Stealing is wrong.