femina, insana

-- the other day I dreamed that my mother, brother, and I were waiting at a table for you and your lot, a family reunion, as it were, you showed up all happiness and smiles, oh la dee la, except you were with your wife, and carried a baby in your arms. 'I had a child, did you hear?' you said with that big smile, and I answered yes, I heard, except I heard you had a boy, and that you're holding is clearly a girl, all curls and bows and little dress. either way, I walked away from the table even though everyone called me back, since I clearly had nothing to do there.
the really whacko part is that throughout all this, we both had the same hairdo, and as usual it probably looked better on you.

** what drives me bugshit about you is that you really buy all that crap you tell me. in your heart of hearts, you really believe this is a tragic story about a true heart and an untrue bitch, instead of the incredibly tiresome story of the guy who won't commit and panicks into believing anything. even that he's still in love with his ex, who's a bitch everytime she points out they didn't really have a very good relationship at all.

## about you, sometimes I really wish things could be different, that I could love you so we could set out to find a rock to comfortably decompose on, grow lots of plants, build lots of crap, and possibly have maybe blonde, definetely insane, if not very tall children. but you can't command the heart they say, and the fact is that I don't love you and I never did. I tried enough to know for sure.

::: you're cruel to me and... I sort of like it. then hate myself for it.