kc_cyberpunk

I remember the first time I saw you, you were at oak park mall in a Sex Pistols t-shirt. My first thought was 'what kind of girl that age listens to the Sex Pistols?'. That was 3 years ago. I thought you were craziness in a can. I thought 'This kid is nuts, and I love it'. You'd make me listen to the Sex Pistols...

...and you knew I fucking hate the Sex Pistols.

I remember when your mom called me threatening to call the cops if I didn't have you home in a half hour. I remember when I kept you on a chain so you wouldn't get kidnapped in the West Bottoms. I remember when we went car shopping and you called me a girl for liking a Celica. I remember when we would look up tanks on e-Bay and make master plans to come up with the money to buy one. I remember cheese fries, and little moments of anarchy. I remember walks and talks, the times we fought, the times we made up. I remember the times we called eachother on our bullshit, and still didn't judge.

I can't say that saying any of this is making me feel better. In fact, the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get. Who should I be pissed at? It's not like anything's going to help. It's not like there's anyone I can kick the shit out of and feel better about myself. But I can't just casually say goodbye. This is going to take some time, and a lot of Night Train. I'm sure somewhere amidst a bender, I'll rationalize something that will make me feel better. At least, that's what an alcoholic would hope, because I don't have too many other ideas.

I'm rambling and it's not helping. I'm just gonna grab another bottle and lay back down.