I was holding on to some small piece of hope. I was fooling myself. Yet every morning, or whenever I wake, I pray that he'll forget, that what happened won't hurt him anymore. I pray that this will go away.

With Veronica Mars I can just forget everything. I walk away from it snide and sassy but at least I'm talking. There's that stinging feeling every time the Dandy Warhols come on, but when the show moves on, so do I. It numbs me. I'm not the same, but I'm there. That's what you want, dearest family, for me to stay. I'm here, partly. Dearest friends, not so much. I have no desire to go out. I have no desire to talk. If you care to join me in mindless consumption of television, that would be lovely, but I'll disappoint you, no matter how low you put the bar.

I should have gone to bed, but I couldn't escape the internet. Not forever. Apparently I can't be numb forever either. It doesn't work like that? Well fuck. I hate this. Memory that needs to be repressed. I'll just wait until it's over.

Labels: We used to be friends.