Sappy Bullshit

I am so beat-with-a-stick, kill-me-now tired. I don't want to socialize. Waah.
Maybe a shower will help.
Well, I'm back. It's 11.15 on a Saturday night. An hour past the Cure song. I feel like crying for the way things are going. For all the selfish reasons I can think of. I hate everyone who isn't pregnant. I hate my former self, out of jealousy and rage. There's a meteor shower tonight. I have fucked up my life. And dragged new life into it. Someday I'll see her smiling little face and it will all be worthwhile but for now all I can do is sulk. I once lived in a big yellow house. It was old and falling apart- it actually got torn down right after our lease expired- but it was a great experience. The last time I remember hearing about a meteor shower it was cold. Kevin and Bree hadn't gone back to Iowa yet. We would sit on the stinking green couch and smoke weed from the zong. The TV was so small and pointless it would rarely be on. Talking was enough. We decided to stay up until they'd be really falling. By 4am it was freezing. We headed out on foot to the darkest place we could think to walk to. Down the gravel path off Rollins, behind the vet school, just past the pavillion before the ROTC training field. We were too cold and too stoned to stick it out for long, but we saw them. Staring at the sky, entirely absorbed in our heads, our existences, but sharing this event, talking about it. None of the elements of this story exist anymore. My past has been obliterated. I hate sentimentality. It's cheap and stupid. The fabric of Bruce Springsteen songs and old ladies' quilts. I don't want the past holding me down. The house on Wilson is now a sparkly apartment complex, whose foundation was laid by my ex-boyfriend. The field from which we viewed the stars is now a swine "research" facility on a widened (cheapened) road. The days when I could pass the time altering my consciousness and moving freely are gone. So gone.
Fuck.