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everybody hit the ground

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post #113
bio: kristen

first post
that week

Category List
The ones about love
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Previous Posts
Dutch Ultimatum
The Ludditette
Friday Party #347
The Wizard of Uz
Taking One 4 the Team
Leap and the Net Will Appear

Mark's not here for me to freak the freak out on, so I'll do it to you my loyal fanbase.

I think you can label me officially a fucking romantic (look, in real life, I have the mouth of a sailor and I say fuck as the germans say doch).

Signed the lease. Looked at the apartment. I am so sick of the wheezing, sweet old man landlord that I can puke. Sure, I have a grandfather adoration complex (my own grandfather martin is the last of the primal players to be written of and I'm dun). But jesus god christ, if I have to go over to that place one more time, I'm gonna blow my polite smile up someone's ass.

Of course, I live there now, so hah hahahahahahah ha.

So, I'm a romantic. Doing the ole check thru, I realize that no one will ever visit me here. Why? because it's a fucking expensive shithole. There are no closets (oh yes, I noticed that today) and it's dirty as a hovel, and I hate it.

But yet, I love her. She is mine. She is the shittiest apartment I have ever lived in (well, the shittiest apartment with which my lovely name ((kristen martin)) has ever graced the lease). The romantic west overlook upon which I imagined erecting a table? well, my freundenen, it does not exist.

But I love her. She is an embarrassment to my willpower. Sure, I could have gotten a better place (how that $1000 hardwood floored place that the landlord offered me without even getting my address haunts me)...

But I have a decision made. I am in the game.

Mark's not here. Every time I write some "I'm in love with that guy who thinks I'm a psycho" thing on solstice, I think he wants to kill me and will have me burned at the stake, but it's never the case.

Every time I drop a glass and break it, I look to see if mark will run in and chastise me. Every email I send, I think that it will break mark's heart. It has once, but good times. Good times.

Last days.

Dudes, my marriage is over (or on hiatus whichever way fucking freaky fuck fuck life gives me). I am a numb lil' mutha fucker.

Dudes, I haven't heard from that dude since I choked the damn engine.
I couldn't get into first gear if my life depended on it - not in this car. I flooded the fuck out of it. I grasped and clawed and begged and prostrated myself.

I am a fool.

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