cuddly ugly terrorist;

The Rose Art Museum is closing…pawning off all their goods for cash. 

My body hurts. My heart hurts. I need to wash the floors. 

Fuck it. I’m getting a dog.

Enough said.

So. Here I am, writing a review of Jason Sheppard’s work. This is how I arrived here:

For the past few weeks I have been inconsolably sad, cynical, and…well…very Hamlet-esque. I mean, how many bodily fluids can you count? Mine was melancholy, the black fluid that pisses everyone around you off whilst you are moping around your castle. Right? Hamlet-esque. Anyway, suddenly the weather became beautiful again so I could ride my bike. The earth’s rotation and degree-of-tilt intuitively acted and regained my confidence. Yesterday was better. And I made a phone call.

Now, I am never an advocate of therapy. I think it is a waste of time and money; save the addicts and those that are actually crazy. But lately, my friends haven’t been present. My family believes that if I have any problems, that I will most likely commit suicide. My co-workers…well…we see / hear enough of each other. So as you can see, I am greatly understaffed in the ‘HELP!’ department. So I decided to find an outside resource.

It was quite effective, actually. I made a pact with myself that this would be the only time I went to any “counselor” about anything. Now, I think it was the best decision I have made in a long, long time. Turns out I’m not defeated. But it is about time that I do more than move it; I need to let go. For one reason or another (I’m attributing it to an unnamed pizza incident), I regressed into my previous self. Lost confidence, lack of an ability to articulate emotions and problems; bullshit fucking incidents pushing paths away.

So it is better. Not to say that things outside of my control are any better, but I can let go of them.

My biggest fear: Kyle leaving.

I still want to move.