smurfs or writng?
which to choose.  its 5 am and I’ve smoked the last of my weed.
I have smoked a lot of weed, made very little art.  if only for myself.  … which is nothing new.
arghhh
alright, two minutes of smurfs…  its not my fault, I’ve not gotten to watch any tv or write or be alone.
okay, there are no smurfs.
this weed will only last so long…  but I went through it so quick…
who needs weed anyway?
haha, I’d like to see her survive…  she could, I bet…
I miss writing, I really do…  I miss it intimately, as one should with someone one loves.
I miss it but I don’t …  I’m not complaining.  I’m not…  that would be idiotic.  I have a wonderful relationship, of what… jesus…  its hard to say… its all a big haze.  A wonderful haze, I think, in general.
dude, why does this happen to me?  so easy.  so easy.  so easy to say.  but why can’t i?  I’ll be honest here… but what if she wants to see?  I’ll still be honest…  what have I to hide?
my god, what she has laid on me.  nothing I didn’t expect, but still, nothing I saw …  whatever, that’s not the point, the point is I love her.  I love her, I do, I ju…  jujube.  jejune.  jerrycurlicueUE.
I miss writing, I miss it all.  somewhat.  but not the bad parts, just the parts I wan to remember being good.  What good is anebriated writing they ask…  well, I don’t care.  why do I ask?  because why do I care?  why do I care?  why?  Do I care?  I don’t know…
anyway, I kkillleddd I killed before, I’ll kill again… I’l kill I will, so I wouldn’t ever, never, whatever…  fuck it.
writing is so easy, so fluid, so the moment of thought the existence on … jesus, what is it “on” its just electrons, its not “on” the screen, its “in” the screen, or maybe, part of…
OUOH
oh you, oh H!
nonsense, why?  because I’m a pot head… and pleased at least, but not productive, I think we’ll have to be productive, productivity sucks, but I could be pot-heaven, if I stay awake when she’s asleep and smoke and do my thing… but my thing gets better done when sober… dude, this is going to suck…
oh, but things are peachy, so peachy.  I’ll be able to smoke again soon, I assume.  I don’t even really need to stop now, but wh… 
How long will she stay with me?  She says she breaks them off, well, I don’t even imagine that… but who knows?  No, this is love, its not easy that I’m moved, but when I move, I go for it.  Then I work it out.
I’m a man, though, hard for me to make any really bad women choices.  Can’t be beat or killed…  well, I don’t know…  see, I know so much more and so much else, in this last night…  the night of disclosures, of things not even commited to page.
PAGE, yes, I said page, not electrons.
I’m happy, I am, I had a “kill me” moment…  which is when I just think quickly to myself “kill me.”  But it subsided.  I feel tingly about me…  I have so much to do…  fuck
anyway, so I was saying, like before, like, whatever…
okay, like, alright, so I’m going to have to teach her, or like, I’ll end up, like, talking, you know, the same, kinda, you know, like, ugg, what am I trying to say here, okay, hold on, ummmmmmmmmmm….
not teasing her, we all do it, we are potheads, I don’t use as many “likes” but I get as lost just as easily on a misplaced word.  a displaced mind, a disgraceful verb.  what?
ever.
and in the gaping maw, the pit that swelled and spewed, and pulsed and throbbed, and squirted juices of milky ilky sticky gooey ooey stickey ickey ickey, oh my so high, so soon, I’ll die.
or at least, come down, same diff, same result, BOREDOM.  or fear.  or monkey shit.
I’m getting a cereal bar.
I’ve returned with a fresh cup (a “warmed” cup, as she’s taught me) of yerba mate.
I cuddled with her for a bit, even though she was asleep… not sure I’d get away with it if she wasn’t…
Man, this girl, the shit she’s been through…  But the essential her, the essential goodness, and compatability, the desire to want to make someone else feel good, but the understanding of feeling like shit…
anyway, I want her to come to my psychiatrist.  Dude, not just because she’s not … okay, hold up, first of all, I’ll say this was, yes, somewhat of an issue that I had with my Ex.
The Ex.
The sex.
Or lack there of, therefore lacking was the relationship.  Either is the sign of the other, but one is rarely without the other.  clunky lines I’m writing, must return to point…
anyway, yeah, we’re not having sex as much as we did those first three days… which were supposed to be our last, and only days, for months…  if not years… the pain of leaving, of her getting on the plane, having to say goodbye…
I’d get over and hug her really tightly and say “I love you so!” and say, “remember that day that I had to leave, and you were leaving on the plane… and like…”
At which point I pause, because I realize how much I say “like” afterall.
“Anyways, like, you were leaving, on a jetplane, and you were singing ‘leaving on a jet plane,’ and the talking on the way to the terminal, from the car, saying something like ‘tell matthew about me…’”
Matthew is her son…  dang, there’s so much to her…  I’m not ashamed, but I feel context is always in order.  or rather…  or fuck, yeah, there’s just too much to say, and I’ve said so little, cause we’ve (i.e. I) have been alone so little lately.  Which is good, and its mostly really good, I put up with some minor things, but I complain about them, which is nearly as bad as the things themselves.
and I hate to be less than what I can best be, and I hope to make her feel the same way, and I think she has that drive, that hope to fight fate, the prescribed paths, the roads paved and made into paths that lead to a fateful drive off the way to the best, less, hate, I…
And… my cat is drinking out of the toilet.  He’s so cute when he does that.  We both agree, we both love our cat, and our cat loves us, we are a good and happy family, and I bet you are jealous…
That’s most it, we gotta make this work, we both care too much to not try, we both want a good (wo)man.  I think she’s better than… dare I say it?  the last, the last serious… and of course any non-serious, you guys suck for not getting serious when you had the chance, because I am a long-hauler…  yesseree, sure, its loosing a bit of its gusto, its been like…  a month and a half… jesus… its so crazy how the first month and a half go so fast, and yet, so… like a month and a half.
She’ll be with me, because I want to be with her, and I’ll want to be with her, cause she wants to be with me, and if it gets too chicken and the egg ish… well, fuck it.
god damn these cheesy poofy things.  (not cheesy-poofs, but like cheesy-poofs, and I think we all know what cheesy-poofs are like.)  they are good but they get stale quickly because there are no preservatives… but they taste really good for cheesy poofs.
oh yeah, right, the woman, Andrea is her name, and its like I’ll have another 1 year + relationship gap in my writing.  but there is stuff not so personal I can do with her around, and if I’m not having weed, I’m going to want to be productive…
work on my cd, my website, my resume… or maybe the million and two little chores and shit I have to do… which includes finding that class… fuck, she never emailed back, what day is tomorrow?
Sunday…  I think I’ll convince her to go to the comedy club… but FIRST, I’ll have to see Jake, which MEANS, I have to give him an AIM, at the very least, and a call tomorrow so I can go over there and get his help and like… why the fuck am I writing this?
oh anyway, we’re good, we are, we’ll be together for a while, I don’t know if I want to write this because, who knows, maybe she’ll want to read this, but it will be too long for her, she’ll be bored by now…  or maybe she’ll want me to read it to her, which means I’ll be reading a long long long time…  and she can stand that…
anywayanywayanyway.   she’s… crazy.  but good… in some regards… but great in many, and bad in only silly stupid mind constipations.  She awakes!
Okay, I asked her if she wants some “cuddle company”
she said sure.
so… that’s the end.  of this.