I used to believe that a person needed love and/or friends to survive. At one point in my life if you'd asked me about these things I would have argued as to their indispensability to a human existence. I don't really believe that any more. Maybe it's because I am getting older. I don't know. But I am realizing that friendships, love, and memories are very much like snake skins which can be discarded, but unlike snake skins, don't need to be replaced. You do build a tougher skin, but it's a different type of emotional skin which keeps you immune from the aches and pains of life's emotional traumas. Outside, of death, there really is not very much I can't shake off these days.
I have decided to excise yet another person from my life. A very wonderful person. She's one of the neatest people I have ever known, but a slew of strange and bizarre occurrences has left it so that she is much better off without my presence in her life. For a flash I thought maybe I was behaving too hastily, but no, I realize that I don't really need her around. She was a good friend, the best kind of friend, but like all friends I've come into contact with in my disgusting excuse for a life, she's far better off without me. Trust me. So what next? I keep breathing. If I live to be an old woman (which I hope won't be the case), I imagine there will be a night when I can just sit alone, ponder my mistakes with regard to people I've known and with regard to myself, and perhaps not feel so foolish. I'm hoping old age will provide some type of solace, because alcohol only does the trick for so long. And hangovers really do suck.
For once, it would be splendid to really have something to look forward to. Just once. I can't remember the last time I just had one thing that made me want to pretend to be happy. Hell, even getting out of the shit-stain of Texas doesn't do much to please me all that much.
This is has been a horrible week. But haven't they all?
*A note to the world. Do not allow someone's self-loathing to put you in awkward, untenable moral positions. It's unfair. Not to the self-loather, but to yourself.*