Hi there schmoopy. Missed me? Missed you too. Bunches. You are my first thought in the morning and last before bed. Muah.
So I tend to title before I wrote to give me some focus on a topic. If you have not noticed I am all over the place. It must be exhausting to be around. I know it is. I have tried everything to calm the storm but in the end it is the core of who I am.
Titles. Crushing. Double meaning.
I have a serious crush on a lady. We have talked quite a bit. But she did something no one ever does. She fed my crazy.
I also have the worst headache I have ever endured. Left eye, center top and right temple all at the same fucking time.
How do these disparate things intersect. I have a first date with my crush. And this fucking headache. Tomorrow is the date but how do I function with this pounding fucking orchestra of drunken giants banging about in my bald head? And still manage charming or as close an approximation as I can manage?
It hurts so bad I threw up. I am hoping sleep kills it cause aspirin sure as fuck got laughed at. One step forward, fuck you monkey twat.
I think that is the colloquialism.
The crush. So we chatted a bunch. and an email exchange also began. All over the place Mikey stepped in. I had an urge to write her back but not the normal way. I chose to pretend it was 1880 something and she was my wife. We have a farm. And slay monsters. Proper vernacular and all. I expected a laugh. Or cringe. Or that it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
She responded in character. And escalated the game.
Escalated the fucking game. Fed my crazy. Nourished it. I probably do not have to state how rare this is.
I was floored. Because as great as the idea sounds to you now, you believe you would have done the same thing back. But, and you will have to trust crazy Uncle Spanky here, 99 times out of hundred it falls on deaf ears and it is ignored.
This has gone on for 5 days now. Growing more and more fantasical. It is amazing. And she was great before this. So, yes, I have a crush on her. I hate myself for it. I am gonna bring the disappointment. I don’t want to but the track record speaks for itself.
And this fucking headache is making self doubt into self loathing. I love you, but I am a piece of shit. It is true. The wreckage I have left behind me proves the point.
So we shall see. I have puked twice typing this. Gonna nap. If this shit gets worse gonna take tomorrow off. Worse more still, if it doesn’t fade I will not make the date.
Crushing. Soul crushing. Triple play. Fuck me, right?