Less than I think, more than she thought

In February of 2004 , six months ago to the moment, I was hospitalized for likin’ a girl more than she wanted me to, yet far less than I’ve loved others. It was, is and always will be bullshit. Four days against my will. They can pretty much shoot you up with anything while you’re there. You’re at their will.

Fromthen2nowrollercoasterisnottheword. Falling up a mountain is more apt.

Should have seen the signs in 1994. Listening to Greenberry Woods one minute, Nine Inch Nails the next.

I press the import button as authoritatively as I have in history while my iTunes considers the seven tracks on Dire Straits, Making Movies.

I seen a girl on a one way corridor
stealing down a wrong way street
for all the world like an urban toreador
she had wheels on on her feet
well the cars do the usual dances
same old cruise and the curbside crawl
but the rollergirl she's taking chances
they just love to see her take them all

Nance preformed triage upon me tonight. I realized, then, that when you rely upon people you fall into traps. But not in a bad way. The key is...

...compassion. I had told her of a wound. She responded with analysis and rubber gloves and needles and stinging fluids and ice and hold still and priceless bedside manor and the power to make me drag out lawn chairs onto the front lawn late at night and to accelerate into a smiling mood. All with a band-aid on my face more humongous than I was pre her. And stories that would make me slay a huge farm animal just to hear again.

Nance thought I was an AOL actor. In a way she was right. After three bong hits, I couldn’t decide whether to talk like Jed Clampet or Chico Marx. Jed Clampet wun.

Matt, my neighbor, was there and he saw me break it downand and make all consistently indisciplined.

The deeper I talked the worse I got in. Thela Hun Ginjeet.

The better this story gets, the less I write.  Wandering stories and thoughts dripping with Quisp influence. Way to be continued.