<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d33206271\x26blogName\x3dThe+Fine+Art+of+Falling+Apart\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dTAN\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d6081200608643811586', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>


This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

missing the ones that matter

Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I woke up a little while ago, decided to call a friend since we've been having problems connecting all week. I was exhausted getting back to my sister's this evening. We sat there, bleary eyed while Nickolaki ran around half-heartedly. He was tired as well. Tough work being a 1.5 year old.

Everytime I talk to this specific friend, I feel like I'm talking to someone who potentially 'gets' me. It's a nice feeling, and I'm sorry he's feeling poorly and for the weeks ahead that will be a trial, I'm sure. Makes me kind of want to scoot down there and bring him chicken soup (store bought) of course.

Because I'm implusive like that. I make phone calls at weird hours of the night, and I ask impossible questions about impossible things. I am an impossibe girl.

things that come back to haunt you:
I don't know what the defect is, but I do know what the cost is. I get my fingers caught in the door again, when I think it's been opened for me. And that the thing that I thought would be the on the other side, spit and scowled at me....after inviting me in.

That hurt my feeings today.

I'm still in London, will be until Wednesday morning. And I miss the only one on this planet that truly loves me......


You can leave your response or bookmark this post to del.icio.us by using the links below.
Comment | Bookmark | Go to end