Hang on, here’s comes a whole lot of nothing…It was pretty gray and wet out all day, last night hell froze over and within minutes I knew I belonged. So I just stayed in and tended the neglected. Watered the plants, did the dishes, and took a long nap in my neglected bed. I love my bed. And called the girlfriend.
I’ve just had the unfortunate experience of being overwhelmed. How little precious time I have – I’m becoming the worst of all ideal boyfriends. If you happen to ever consider me in anyway, just don’t bother, all of it has made me sick to my stomach. Perhaps I’m just spoiled because I live in the first world of complete standard compliance, but there’s simply no excuse for this sort of thing. Now, you might think that I’m being a pompous ass by suggesting this, but the truth is I should be hurled from the nearest bridge or doused with lighter fluid and burned.
Every story has a 'protagonist', I'm told. This story of my life doesn't have a protagonist. Instead, it has a mish-mash of characters that will never seem complete-just as this story will most certainly seem vague and full of holes for the simple fact that I am not a writer by trade. I, myself, am one of the incomplete characters. The only difference between them and I is that it's my head voice your wandering and not theirs...
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