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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.

Craig calls me a Gish-sicle

I wonder if that's because I can be cold, or unwelcome. Hard, edgy. My words clipped and/or hurried. I think when I slow down long enough to articulate what is in my head, it scares the shit out of people.

I feel like I just spilled my guts to the Craig guy (and I only refer to him that way so as to distance myself; smart thinking, captain). So, despite past experience with the spilling of guts, I feel better and not so fucking emotionally constipated. It's really liberating to speak with someone like that. However, it kind of feels like a colonic irrigation afterwards, so I don't recommend it on a daily basis. At least, that's sort of how I'd characterise it. Even though I 've never actually uh....yeah.

And I can't be the only person on the planet, vacuuming. Or washing floors. All lemony fresh hardwood. One of my sister's in-laws uses Pledge on her linoleum. I can hardly be bothered to pick up a bottle of Mr. Clean.

I spent the better part of this evening, with my family from out of town. It's weird, I mean, I'm weird. When they aren't here, I miss them. When they are, I just want to slink away to my apartment and hide out. Why is that?

I'm intimacy-challenged.
Sounded better in my head.

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