Chunked

i have two regrets so far.
one,
i refused (with tearful retort) to go on Splash Mountain at Disney World.
two,
i should have gone to my senior year prom with Logan Reed.

i figure this is pretty good...seeing that the two are fairly trivial.
i tried to come up with more, but for some reason the ones that bordered possibilities, i sent back to untroubled waters on the huge yacht containing all the other stupid things ive done...and have gotten out of.
sometimes i think i know everything, that i've got the whole picture in frame, that i'm seeing all the sides. Then that little pest DOUBT makes an awkward appearance and everything goes dark and scary and shitty. It's raining im cold and i dont know where to go.
its that life experience thing...gimme all you got....throw it at me Man.....hit me with your best shot....be kind to me, treat me mean, ill make the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine.
And i think im being all bad ass, i think i am a machine, steel stoned and seemingly indestructible. which is almost true. cept i forget about all those people, the really good ones, that have tickets to this Ms Masochism’s Circus on the fifty yard line. They're not exactly enjoying their popcorn.

Do i apologize? I should. I do. I'm sorry.

It's a lot...my head, my life, my little world. Sometimes i forget other people look at it. Like a snow globe. And i the little figure change, but there's still glass in between and no matter how hard you knock, you wont get i, the little animals attention.

until you, or i, break it the fuck open.

on a lighter note.
LOVE STORY. Erich Segal, 1970. This is a great book about perfect dialogue. You should all read it.

Based on the conversation that i had with my mother, yesterday, steven and my sister today, i thought that this would be an approporiate conjunction of these thoughts...and this wonderful book.

Oliver refuses to speak with his father. Father is turning 60, having a party. RSVP. Jenny calls and while on the phone tries to make Oliver talk to his father. He refuses, she cries. She tells his father,
"Mr. Barrett, Oliver does want you to know that in his own special way...Oliver loves you very much."
Oliver rips the phone out of her hand, the reciever from the wall and throws it across the room. Says,
"God damn you Jenny! Why dont you get the hell out of my life!"

she runs away, he chases her, trying to find her, yadda yadda. He returns, she's sitting on the steps. He feels terrible and where remedy follows sickness, tries to apologize to which Jenny says,
"Stop. Love means never having to say you're sorry."

Now, i know i have heard this line before, but it hit me. I know its cheese ball (and actually now the book sounds cheese ball....dont believe it!) but i stopped reading, for a good 20 minutes.
Is this the perfect apology, meg? Is the perfect apology, not in a philosophical sense, non-existent because there just shouldn't be one?
I think we hit something like that. As long as you're still around to not have to say sorry then you shouldn't ever have to say sorry.
makes sense to me anyway. :)

The woman behind the register at Delia's asked me if purple was my favorite color as i placed a purple skirt and a purple belt in front of her. I said no, actually, then explained my halloween costume. She replies, "Jem and the Holograms"
The conversation to follow was filled with starry eyed memories of this wonderful show. We came to the conclusion based on the artifacts of costume, that i would be Pizzazz, the lead singer of the Misfits.
how freaking perfect is that.

Cheers for Halloween and all other special events i care about that get ruined by the ever present and invisible force that is the counterpart to great expectations.