The Rodeo is Over, But My 8 Seconds Aren't...

I don't even know how to describe these previous weeks. Intense? Turbulent? Trying? Pain-in-the-ass-and-a-pleasure-at-once? Like I said, it's almost inconceivable, yet my head hurts too much and my stomach is on an acid trip, therefore conceiving this comparison is optional...

In my four-year stint in College Station, not once have I actually had a vacation. I don't think a weekend sebbatical to Nuevo Laredo is an actual vacation, but call it what you will. I'm always working, and trying to make the best of a situation that puts a sour mood on my day. It's like working around these instances, these daily contrivances of guilt, hate, remorse and prejudice, are making me a cynic; stealing my idealism and the loving glint in my eye. FUCK YOU... you know who you are...

Yeah... I can be bitter. I'm owed that much. It's like working hard isn't good enough for you. Is it not enough that I travel twice weekly over an hour and a half to accomplish NEARLY NOTHING??? Is it not enough that I make ends meet? Is it not enough that I prove myself daily in school, work, and EVERYTHING ELSE??? GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK! You fool! You lazy incontrovertible ignoramus! I wish that your skull fit neatly between my thumb and forefinger, so that with the most simple movement I could end both our suffering by crushing your melon. Oh I wish...

There are things that no one else knows. There are places in my mind where no one else goes. These secrets I keep from everyone are breaching the surface, pitted with rage and salted with anger.

I'm sick of you, and all of your inabilities to think, feel and act with all of your faculties. I'm sick of your self-medication and sleep-deprived stupors. I'm sick of your lazy ass, and I so desperately want to remove you from my world and rid myself of the parasitic nature of this arrangement. You don't have a heart, so stop telling me that you love me. I don't cry for you or us, but instead, I weep for my own stupidity. I can be forgiven for all of this, you will live in regret.

Give me time, and I'll take you down. I'll make your world crumble so you can see what you have done, so you can taste the bitterness of the tears I cried, so you can understand that it wasn't me or us... IT WAS YOU... and you were wrong.

Kinky Friedman for Governor of Texas...

Who wouldn't vote for a hippy-journalist who has written a slew of mystery novels in which he is the sloppy sleuth on the trail of his nemesis. Kinky Friedman for Governor... If you vote, I'll beat you if you don't vote for him.

Silver Taps was really hard. Just standing there, Ram came up behind me and put his arm around me. His massive frame just enveloped me, and I broke into tears. It's hard to see this person that you had made memories with, memories that will never be forgotten, be lost to an untimely death. We're so young, and I'm pretty damn sure that we don't want to die that way, yet we constantly put ourselves in harms way. You are not invincible. You are not going to make it if you jump off the cliff of apathy; there is nothing tethering you to the summit. Take that leap, and you'll be gone.

Chris, I never thought we could be good friends again. It was such an incredibly turbulent relationship, and God knows that I still don't like parts of who he has become (ie; tragically-hip trend-whore), but I won't judge (I just did). It was comforting to have some of the old FHKers there. I can see now how much of a family we've become. Tonight was my homecoming; tonight our arbitrary family grieved as one.