I am L. O. V. E. > stoned

hmm.

Yay! Not a good week; survived.

Yay.

Mother fucker.

Goddamn mother fuckin' tree - the bit of root ball I can see from this spot, doesn't look any near as fucking good as the beautiful thick rugged veiny oak that stood between me and the lake. Big fuckin' mess.

Oh, and Mom's sick. yeah, and um, well, shit.

I feel bad about Rolf - great week followed by bad . . .

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(At Milton - the tree - hadn't mentioned the rain, but it was a bitch. Although, well, {sigh} I like the rain.)

I guess I just like bitches, too: take Rolf, for instance. Oh he's so cute. C.U.T.E. cute; don't for a minute imagine that I'm going to say something nice, but he's cute. No, really. He is nice. I'm passive/aggressive and drunk. . .but nice, he's nice too: but well, an ass. Not to put too fine a point on it. Why can't he behave?

Why can't I be someone else? Damn, I wish I was witty and quick. Then I could tell him: "go to hell", with a laugh. But, we just get on the wrong side of the translation. You know, he says "THAT SHOULD REALLY BE RETURNED TO THE DRY-CLEANERS." And I'm like: "you muther fucker" before I can even blink., You know? Oh, it's so damn fast.

"I can go from Hostess to Bitch in 30 seconds." from some APRON, I saw: Rehoboth.

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WHEN?!, were we at the beach? How could it have been so long ago? What's today.? Monday. Ah damn. It was six days ago. It seems like yesterday, but with so much pain over night, that yesterday seems like six days ago.

stand by - a music change is gonna do a worlda good. my dog is so weird.

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mm it wasn't all bad. It's not all that bad now . . . but maybe it is. I'm not suicidal or anything; I think I'm doing right well. But it sucks,

speaking of which, there was some fun on Friday. poor Rolf, you know I brought him a present, this CD I'm listening too. . . Bob Schneider. . . "La la la: lala la la lah"

"It's just not right," Rolf said, "to be depressed and lonely in my own house."

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Then things were good. I'm sorry. What can I do? Tuesday, on the way home from Milton / Rehoboth, was supremely difficult. We'd had such a great time, but, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you'd say. I'd say he woke up in pain, and decided to be a pain to me as well.

That same night he apologized. But it had been a long and trying day, with the 3 hour ride home and, the rain, and: the hoses hanging from underneath his expensive frucking car. . . mmm. . .so, he felt that he needed to apologize a few times. He said:

"Are you very angry?"

"I'm not angry,' I said. "I'm fed up." And then all these "Blah-blah" blah's followed.

So he fell bad, and I didn't mean to do that. . . still he thought things were better now. HELL,they were, I got to say my piece, . . he was lovely. . but by Friday I couldn't figure out how to be with him. So I hid.

Ah. . . good times. But, that night, and Friday night; not too bad, and touching, respectively.

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And a lovely evening, was a world of comfort in the following sidenotes; my sister, Joy, called at 8:15 Saturday morning, realizing, and saying out loud for the first time: "Oh, Vig. . I just don't think she's going to make it."

No, probably not. We have some time, still a chance we have a lot of time, but for sure, not as much as we'd like, I told her. . . Not as much as we'd like.

So, I invited her over to dinner on Sunday. I said the folks were coming too, why not join in. Of course, I had to call the folks right quick afterward to see if they had any memory of me asking them to dinner a few days ago. . you know, to see the "Miracle of the Tree". . ?. . . yeah, fuck.

sorry for the language. . .

I was still kinda - oh no, I was TOTALLY asleep when she called at 8:15 Saturday morning. And sleeping on the couch in the sun-room I might add. oy. veh.

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Whatever, what else. . .saturday was JAMMED PACKED. I finally "Got Up" a couple of hours after she called. . . with such a hangover. I tell you what. No I won't tell you.

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