Big Little Thoughts

I wish the number 4 wasn’t so important to us.

Every time I watch the news I flip between relief and sadness that you aren’t here to experience this world, and the total fuckery we find ourselves in.

I still can’t hear those songs.

I haven’t been able to watch that movie again, every time I try I end up turning it off.

Sometimes, the envy I hold for your non-existence scares even me.

I can’t look at Jason Ritter without thinking of you.

I always half intend to actually go to that Polish festival we found, but I probably never actually will.

Every concert I’ve been to has been a little bit for you.

This year my desire to have you here has been less for me, more because your support was so needed.

Grief is love’s unwillingness to let go.

Today will always knock the wind out of me.

Paint’s Peeling

Miss you

Sir Dukamus

Well fuck.

Here were are again. Another loss. Another blow to the souls of my nearest and dearest and not a god damn thing I can do to patch things up.

I’ve decided anyone that says something along the lines of ‘they’re just a pet/dog/etc’ immediately gets on my ‘bad blood’ list. Fuck you people, you are not capable of love the same way we are then and thus, fuck you.

I don’t get close to many people or things, but I can definitely say that Duke’s fuzzy ‘got food for me’ face has been a comfort, joy and band aid for me at times when I most needed it. Best Neph-pup ever. No one else has ever been so excited to see me they peed. Can’t even count how many times his fuzz caught my tears as well as my pets and snugs. I’m blessed that I got to live with him for a bit, have his happy barks to welcome me no matter if it’d been 10 minutes or 10 months since he’d seen me.

I can’t verbalize this loss any better than I’ve been able to Aaron’s. All I’ve got is dark humor. Joking about it is the only way of opening my mouth without screaming. Still find it funny that my agnostic little brain most likes the idea of a conscious afterlife when I don’t want to let go.

Hope you find Aaron, Duke, and when you do, you’re so excited you pee on his shoes.

Well. Fuck.

TFW you get physical items with your art on them for your DFA and you’re having ALL.THE.FEELS.

So, I did a thing. A thing I have no idea will be well received or may get me called a giant cunt. I’m hoping for the first one but history tells me it might be that second guy.

I just thought it was a cute, stupid, fitting way to have a thing that ties what’s left of us together. One hoodie at a time. I hope you like this, dude, you’re part of this stupid little group of IT misfts like it or not. He’d want it that way, and I feel like he’d get a laugh out of this while I am a weepy.fucking.mess.

ANGST + HUGGINGS

I saw this the day it was released. My immediate thought was to share it to you on FB, and then I remembered. That nagging little bitch that is reality reminded me that, if I do, it doesn’t really matter. Cuz you’re dead. Someone else might enjoy it, but the inside joke of it, the ANGST, the HUGGINGS response wouldn’t happen because, you’re dead. Still, here I am, writing a thing to a dead person. Like ya do. Izzard is never the same, Spine is never the same, Rilo is never the same. Nothing is the same. Time shifts that, but there are too many moments where an instant of joy gets insta-fucked out of existence because this is our reality.

My want to share will never go away, but there’s this weird level that goes with doing so now, because your page is still there. The eyes are still on it, and I don’t necessarily want those eyes on me.

D-Day Part 3

Today is one of those days I wish Facebook had an option to not allow comments. I didn’t say what I did for anyone but you. Maybe it was better put here but there is that little social nuance that comes with having a dead friend. Expectation might have been a better word there but you get me. If I say nothing, am I an asshole? If I say something that has meaning to only a few it invites jokes and questions that are inappropriate and force me to have those conversations of why I posted what I did in the first place. Followed by inevitable apologies and rehashing all the why.

Fuck it, I thought it was an appropriate in thing to do. Just as much as including some binary in my tattoo if I stop dragging my damn feet will be. That’s my little nod to you, to the computery nerds that we are and the people we wanted to be.

The world keeps turning, but it will never be the same. There’s a dark corner of my mind that realizes how easy it is for things to keep spinning after a loss, and that little bitch can sod right the fuck off today. Things do keep spinning but it’s far from easy. Some days are a whisper, some days are ear bleeding decibels to my fragile little heart.

This year in particular there have been moments I’ve just wanted you to exist in a tangible way again. Purely selfish ones, when I wanted an Aaron hug or laugh to stave off the pain of what was going on for a minute. Funny too how many moments I wanted you to exist were perfectly mundane and ordinary, just with a tinge of ‘man, he’d love this’ or ‘I wonder what he’d say about this’.

There’s still some Inigo left in me – I want my friend back you son of a bitch. Always find it amusing I want a ‘god’ to exist just to have something to be mad at that has a face instead of the reality of the nothing.

Well now I’m just thinking about Artax drowning in the mud and fuck balls did not need that today.

All this is to just say that I miss you and I’m annoyed by the expectations and obliviousness of the world as per usual. So, yeah.

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

Dawned on me that I did actually make all those old letters to you public, for whatever that’s worth. Been awhile, which it really hasn’t considering how many mornings I sing in my car or talk to the air like it’s you. Songs are getting a little bit easier to take but there’s some bands I still instinctively skip. Just can’t take it yet.

Conversations with M lately on all things worldly harken back to many a conversation on the floor in the old apartment in the wee hours. Once you were really my friend too, not just that guy I knew. So often lately I have been wishing so hard that you were in the midst for our conversations, knowing you would have your views and that they’d be fantastic in one way or another.

I remember so clearly that first year after you were gone. How many people would tell me it gets easier and all those little lies we tell ourselves to survive. I nearly fired my therapist for suggesting that I ‘let you go’. That struck me as such an insult at first, but given the complete breakdown I had just had in her office I can understand why that would be the suggestion made. Letting go, accepting is supposed to be end goal of grief I guess. Thing is, that’s not how I roll. Acceptance to me feels like forgetting and I refuse to forget you. I listen to the few voicemails and videos I have of you when I need to hear your laugh. Those are precious commodities to me now in a way I never anticipated. Sometimes just those few words, hearing you say my name is exactly what I need to not throw in the towel.

I’m trying to be brave. I’m trying to live. If not for me, I guess I do it for you. I realize how hopelessly romantic that sounds (not in a creepy way, whatever there’s love in friendship so the fucking cliche works).

Maybe this is the practice I need to start? Just stream of consciousness to you like I do in the car? Better than not writing at all, even if it is useless bullshit.

Miss yer fuckin face, man. Miss yer brain. Miss ye.

That was…interesting.

Hi friend.

So that was a weird experience I hope I don’t have to repeat for at least a decade. Seeing you in that medicated fog was the one silver lining of it all, that’s for sure. I just wish I could remember more than your face and the feeling of it all…

525,600 Minutes

Well, here we are.

What I said this morning in social media realm wasn’t for me. Truth, yes, but it was the kindest way I could think of to say something and not expose more than needed to be said in such a public realm. This, since really only M even knows it exists. This…this is for me.

Fuck it.

I’m still angry, man. Less now at you for being simply a damaged, stubborn ass of a human being than angry at myself for not being a better human myself. Yet, if I’m really honest, it’s not like I’ve been a better friend since your parting…all my wishful thinking and bursting heartstrings falter when I actually have to take action. Better on the sidelines, Eeyore in the wings observing but never wanting to be a bother to anyone.

I want to be angry with God, but given I’ve never been certain of such a creature even that seems a fruitless venture. Really, if there was a God what could I question aside from why now? Why not when we’re in our 80’s? As if that loss would hurt any less?

Doesn’t matter when someone is taken from you, it only matters that they are taken. The piece still goes missing, the scars still have to form.

I want to help B so badly, but I don’t know that there is anything I can say or do to ease the struggle on that end.

We all just have to make our way I guess. Understand, we’ll go hand in hand but we’ll walk alone in fear.

I hate today. I hate it because for the vast majority of this day I was unconscious. If anything I’m pissed that in that space our consciousness didn’t get to meet one last time. Hearing the words still makes no sense, felt like such a dream. Guess I should be thankful for anesthesia to some extent. I’m not sure I could have coped with being fully conscious for that affair.

There’s got to be a dark joke in my being sterilized the day your light burnt out but I can’t find it just yet…

Sigh, I just miss you. We all miss you.

If ever there could be a sign that the afterlife existed, it’d be you wiring up a connection back here…still keep waiting for my e-mail from the afterlife…part of me will always be.

Almost a Year to the Moment

I’m realizing as this day moves forward that it’s been more than a year since I’ve talked to you in any media format.

I don’t honestly think I spoke to you this day a year ago…or even a few days prior.

I’m still not ready for this…but maybe that’s just how it needs to be.

My Gift to You

Well, the e-mail has been sent. Here we go old friend. I figure the best gift I can give to honor you in a way is to finish the damn thing I started you were occasionally up my ass telling me to complete.

Should this actually become a real thing, it’s your doing just as much as mine.

These are the moments…

This right here? This second is when I want to roundhouse kick you in the balls. I really hate reiterating the story…it lives in my head every day as it is, but mostly I really don’t want to have to say it out loud or type it to someone that hasn’t gotten the information shared with them yet.

Now I’m not just a friend, I’m your fucking life editor.

Want to kick you right in the babymaker man…following by a big ass bear hug because I miss you something terrible.

Paint’s Peeling

The paint’s peeling off the streets again
And I’ll drive and close my eyes in Michigan
And I feel nothing, not brave
It’s a hard day for breathing again

I still can’t listen to this Rilo Kiley song. I finally got brave enough to go through the rest of this group’s loveliness as evidenced in the quote above…but this one…I can’t stomach yet…

Are you watching us? Are you laughing at the changes that are taking place? Sometimes I can hear your laugh so clearly I expect you to be waiting at my doorstep. To celebrate, to talk, to be silent, to breathe…

All this grief is supposed to make me want to live more, right? Cherish the moments as they are? Not sure I’ll ever do that…mostly still just angry that you’re not here to do it yourself.

This Is Not My Idea

Do you have any idea how aggravating it is to not be able to listen to songs that used to bring you calm and peace?? Notes have become open wounds lately, there’s not a day I don’t have to skip a song or I’ll be a blubbering mess before I reach my destination.

Why am I still so damn angry about all of this? Why am I still so SILENT about all of this?

There’s got to be something said for those who struggle internally but I feel that I am seething far more at the simple fact that on the outside I probably appear to be very bubbly, unintelligent and generally happy when that is the farthest fucking thing from reality.

Beautiful disaster, well played illusion at best. Hide the mayhem so no one makes you go on medication again. Sometimes there are cracks in the vernier and now…he knows. Wants you to get help but you don’t see a point because what if…you’re the one that’s right?

What if you’re not really broken? What if the whatever the fuck they’d DSM you with isn’t really a problem but really a florescent lit window into the harsh light of reality? Maybe it’s really your synapses that got it right?

If that’s the case, why does my skin constantly crawl if I’m around the people that used to feel like home to me. Like they can see this thing devouring me and I have to act like they can’t?

Being consciously aware of how fucking wrong you feel 24/7 isn’t something I’d wish on anyone but I feel it ten fold since you left us. Every conversation drips with mediocrity when I’m screaming inside…every hug feels cheap and void because I keep wondering when it’s going to be the last one I ever get.

I’m still so damn mad…mad at you, mad at us. Why do we all think we’re hiding so well when we really see through each other’s shit more than anyone else? Why’d you think you were so damn clever and why in the FUCK didn’t we call you on it more…but would that really change anything?

Living inside my head in akin to watching a blurred version of a party you weren’t invited to. Everything seems to fit but you and when you try to carve out a spot it just feels fraudulent, ill fitting and itchy.

Spend more time wanting to punch everything into a paste than ever saying a word.

ARG!!

I fucking hate that your birthday is this weekend and that I’m not going to be able to be with our people.

Also, I fucking hate that it still feels like you’re just going to show up and go ‘the rumors of my demise are clearly untrue’ like a dick. That would be so you…

Fucking fuck fucker.

Let’s not, shall we?

Sigh…really man there are just days that I don’t want to do this without you.

I keep trying to rationalize what you’d want us to be doing…but it all just lands in the same craters over and over again…cliche and silly.

I may be an ass for this but I can’t romanticize who you are just because you’re not here. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you just as much, the flaws/oddities are what made you great.

Some days the pain is but an itch…others my guts may as well be only held to by my own arms…I’m just going to keep assuming that’s perfectly normal and roll with it.

I’m also of the mindset that I equally want there to be some level of consciousness post life…but also equally hoping there’s just vast nothing…and no conscious awareness of that fact.

I feel guilty when I go a day and I don’t think about you…I’m not ready to let you go yet…not that much. Not to that part of my brain where all the former friendships have gone to die…circumstances unlike yours but in the end it’s all the same graveyard anyway.

Buh…this gal gives up…don’t know how to be…who to be…realizing that I’m really becoming a totally crappy person/friend thing…lost touch with so many…always buried in my own crap…human Eeyore…everybody’s got their something…who needs me? I just like to watch everyone live and do these awesome things…even if I’m not there to witness them in person. Makes me totally proud to know these humans…but I don’t ever say it…and then shit like what happens to you comes in…and I ‘m reminded of all that I didn’t say…should have said…could have said…but didn’t. Does it matter? Did you know it anyway? Or did you secretly think I was just as much a pain in the ass as I sometimes felt you were?

Sadly it’s easier to talk to a void than it is to talk to my closest confidants…what a sad state of affairs…

Seems like everyone else is aging better like fine wine and I’m just stuck…I’m not getting better…the people that make me want to be better I hardly see. Let’s just cut the shit shall we…that’s the big problem in my relationship…financially intertwined and I feel like he brings out the worst in me…I feel uneducated and consistently defunct. What am I learning? What am I doing? I’m simply becoming a static version of myself…Teeza 1.5.3…never to be better…if I make myself better it’s going to be all on me and all for me…

You sir, are an asshole

Dude…I miss you.

Every time I learn some new nerdy thing I get all excited and then I remember…and I get mad and sadpants…

M and I went to see your parentals the other weekend. They seem as ok as they can be and as adorable as always. Wish I hung out at your house more but I didn’t know you when you lived there the first time.

Think I found a house – hoping it stays on the market/going to go check it out soonish. There’s a bathroom under a staircase which has led me down a path of being obsessed with decorating it HP style. You’d dig that or at least get a chuckle I hope.

I’m dying to read M’s book but I don’t want to until he’s ready for me to. E’s hanging in there – game night at her place this weekend should be fun times. Why’d you keep us apart man? I don’t get you sometimes…

Work is still going well – really happy to be in a place that’s this chill and I still get to do crap I haven’t before/learn new thingies. NEW THINGIES!

For serious though, I miss yer face…douche canoe.

Sad Panda

This might be weird but whatever…if the afterlife has intertubes this totally counts.

Someone’s actually willing to give me monies for a house…and I want you to know that because you would be happy with me and tell me important things about that.

Me misses you. But I’m still mad.

I’m just gonna put this here, ok…

I’m angry. Not just little bit of red-faced, flushed with boiling blood angry.

I am clothes tearing, Dr. Banner turned Hulk I need smash all the things angry.

I am angry you are gone, that is an inevitability.

I am angry for selfish reasons. I won’t ever see you again, hear your laugh, smell your smelleven your stanky ass hummus farts seem endearing lately.

I’m angry because I didn’t push harderinstead I�let things be assuming you would be ok because you always weretrusted that even with your mistakes/choices that things would never dip that far into the red. I’m angry because I was a foolwe all were to an extent.

I want to be angry with you, and I am to a certain degree but without you here for me to take out that anger on I have to turn it somewhere else. So I am doing what we’ve all been doing. Pointing the dagger at my own heart.

Yet I am angry at you for some things. I’m fucking pissed at you that our friends and your family have to go through this. I’m angry every time I want to soothe their pain and can’t. I’m angry whenever I go to do some mundane fucking task and all I can see is a memory of you, or hear something you said. So yeah, I guess I am angry at youfucking dick.

I’m angry I have to have these memories now – your funeralthe hospitalhearing you were gonefuck you manyou were NOT supposed to be the one to do this! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE LEAST FUCKING LIKELY ONE OF US TO DO THIS!!

I keep scanning all the moments where maybe there was a sign we should have taken moreseriously but reallyreally you were you and you’d have been too god damn arrogant to listenbecause that was you.

Maybe the reality is I’m fucking pissed at you because I’m projecting your actions on what I always do. Put on the glossy version for most to see while the demon lurks just below the surfaceis that why we were so close after awhile? Did our demons catch a glimpse of each other? Is that the tie that binds us all?

I’d like to have shiny happy memories, and I do, but there’s this funky ass film to everything now I can’t shakebecause I keep wondering who’s next to fall? That seems idiotic as wellthe odds don’t compute.

How could someone so fucking smart do this shitI honestly never got why any of you would jump to self medicationmaybe it’s a me thing because I avoid the shit like the plagueI want the pain..it’s the only way I know I’m herebut fucking seriously whyand why didn’t you just let us be the assholes that made you go into rehab instead of the assholes that had to bury you?

I know I’m going to regret typing this up to some extent, even if it never sees the light of day I’ll have thought all these thingsI will be that asshole and I have to deal with thateventually maybe I’ll stop being angry but so far it’s the first tingle in my gut as soon as anything involving you comes upthat or hot fresh tears that just piss me off even more…

No matter how fucking fucked up shit was for youwe’d have moved mountains to get things back togetheractually ya know what fuck it I won’t lie… We would have fucking triedand we may have failed miserably or only done just what you would let us do but we’d TRYand that’s all you can really ask of anyone, right?

Fuckjust fuck man what the fucking hellI told youI fucking told you to take care of yourselfyou were important…

I’m with M on this, I dont‘ think you knew it was your last nightand when you WANTED it to be your last night it still was never going to be right…

Man I used to be good at thiswriting down in such an eloquent�fashion the slew of emotion going through my veinslook at mefucking shell of the formerguess we are the same in that regardand I am sorry I let you slip that farI am eternally sorry for thateven if you wouldn’t have listened�I should have at least said fucking somethinganything more than what I did. FUCK!

The more sentimental side of me knows I should be betterfor youmemory of youwhat the fuck ever you want to call it. I should be the version of me you‘d hoped I could becomeor at least I should have stronger passwords…

I’m angry I didn’t ask you more thingslearn more from yousponge up the knowledge a bit. Angry I didn’t share more with youtreated you for so long not as my friend but as another of “M’s friends” like I do everyonebecause somehow y’all never belong to me, not really.