I probably should be ashamed of myself for smoking pot at 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon. But I’m not. This shit came from the other side of the country. I should get my brother to send some from the east coast and have a big party for myself. By myself.
No one smokes pot here. It’s weird. I miss the company.
Speaking of whom, I looked at his tumblr today. I haven’t done that in a long time. I don’t regret it. This made me cry:
I thought I would be there that long, too. Isn’t that the scary part? That you can give so much, be so invested, and it all just stops.
Wait. No, it didn’t. It got sick and died. I had to pull the plug.
Baby, you’re so perfect, but he’s the perfect one for me.
I don’t know for sure who “he” is, but I do know that he is the perfect one for me. And, in that, I know my ex isn’t the one for me.
Maybe I didn’t pull the plug. Maybe I had to use a shotgun because the fucker would not go down.