Footprints

I have known for sometime now that you’ve been having peeks on this blog since i introduced you to it. Take today for instance. And you haven’t stopped visiting even after everything. Digital footprints we all have. I’m not surprised. Or maybe i am, in a way? I’m amused, though.

You didn’t tell me if you actually read every post, unless it seemed it was about you. You didn’t tell me if remnant of your childhood dyslexia was getting in your way of reading long winded blah. A lot of things were left unsaid but i guessed anyway. I’m not very bad at guesswork. Tell me i’m wrong this time. Knowing would be nice.

You know, growing up is a bitch. And such fun still ! In the end, it’s only causality that you were standing by the roadside while i went  on through the endless cycles of everyday catharsis.

It’s strange

but suddenly I find myself like a new man. I can feel the change down to my bone marrow. Yes, for the better or worse everything has changed.

Also, funnily enough, I suddenly find myself wanted by angry exotic creatures with sharp claws and long hair. Them nails are dangerous. They dig deep beneath the skin. Now that’s painful.  But I don’t mind. No sir not at all. I want the blood to spill.

Then there’s the fact I have been a very bad boy lately. I hope God is as merciful as he is talked about for I will test his absolute limits. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for all the sin, the pain and torture I’ve inflicted of late. Or maybe I do. Because deep down I am Mr. Goody Two Pants. No, seriously. I was a teacher’s pet at school. Class monitor. Ha!

Interesting start to 2009 though. Very interesting.

Confession # 03

Every time someone dies in the family, an all too common phenomena for the last 3 years, I keep lying to you over phone.

It’s not about not wanting to be the bad news messenger. It’s just that you’re over 60 with three angioplasties and then there’s the family legacy of high blood pressure. Besides, I don’t want you to worry about dead people while you’re thousands of miles away. There’s nothing to it. Only brooding.

It’s amusing how I hate myself lying to you when I lie to so many people without blinking an eye.

haha, how I consider so many people insignificant and unimportant. It’s easier lying to people you think don’t have much of a role to play in your own life.

But you’re not insignificant.

Confession # 02

The only reason I talk to you like a disgruntled millionaire ex-husband whose estate and portfolio got pilfered by the skanky bitch ex-wife ’cause I hate you’re the only one who calls me. Everyday, day in and day out.

Y’know, my incoming call log is a desert. Even weeks go by when the you’re the only incoming call. It’s so funny that it’s sad.

I hate myself for unloading all the days broken promises and garbage on you.

I hate myself after hanging up for talking the way I talk because it’s not me. You know it’s not me.

I hate myself for losing my sense of rationality (or whatever of its left) and getting hot and all worked up seeing your name in the mobile screen.

You don’t deserve it. Not from me.

When you’ll find this place, hopefully, and this post about 16 or so months from now, I know you’ll understand, as you always do.

confession # 01

I pretend to know more about women than I actually do. But I guess a lot. Most of the times the blind spitball goes astonishingly far. And accurate. Strike one. There. I just made a baseball analogy.