Long Story Short ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Childhood is Embarrassing I almost wrote a long, detailed paragraph about a chicken that I roasted last night. And then I looked at it and realized how much of a fucktard it made me look. I needed to add, "The chicken was great. Then I packed the pipe with another fat rock and blazed. Shortly thereafter the strippers arrived and we had a KY mudwrestling match in my front yard. I had eleventeen orgasms and gave my first blumpkin." Blumpkin. Heh. I sliced me finger open last night with a pair of scissors. I was attempting to pry an ancient votive stump from an old candleholder. I was holding the scissors retardedly and when I looked at the pad of my right index finger it was a bloody mess. Do you know how often you use your right index finger? Well quite a bit more often that I would have thought. I picked up several boxes of crappola from my parents house yesterday. It's all junk from high school and earlier. It had been in my old room but they redecorated that room and made it into another guest room. I knew they had just boxed up my stuff and put it in another room for me to get whenever I wanted it. I decided to grab my earliest journals - the ones from 1990 through probably 1998 or so. I ended up taking four big cardboard boxes home with me. When I looked through them last night I found ancient music boxes, the old candleholder that caused my injury, and a ton of trashy beat-up romance novels. I read through some of the older journals and I just have to say that it was a pretty horrifying experience. I was such a know-it-all little shithead. At age 10 I actually had the nerve to write about how "stressful" my life was. How I was going on 30 years old. I was cringing as I read the pages. Then I struck gold. On my 13th birthday I had actually written that I was getting old. But then I revised that to say that 13 wasn't old, 25 was really old. I had a good laugh about that one. Why 25? Ultimately those journals were just embarrassing. I stopped reading when it became too much for me. I have only one question: how in the hell did my parents stand me? I'm looking for some friendly advice on a question I have rolling around in my head. May 12th is my ex's 25th birthday, exactly twelve days before mine. We haven't spoken since July of 2004. Christmas has passed, New Years, and now almost entire year. If I let her birthday pass unnoticed I feel that I am sending a "no contact ever again" message. I am really tempted to send her a Happy Birthday email. Would that be a really bad idea? Part of me wants to do it so she knows I still think of her, part of me wants her to know that I care that it's her birthday and wanted to acknowledge it, and part of me isn't sure I could get past her birthday without in some way reaching out to her. However, her birthday is only one day of the year and once I open up communication I may have to deal with her the other 364 days of the year. Or, maybe she won't respond to me at all and then how will I feel about that? I could just avoid the whole thing and feel guilty, that has worked for the last ten months. So anyone who read this far, what do you think? Should I do anything at all? I'd be interested to hear opinions. 3:35 p.m. - 2005-04-26 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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