courtney love once said of her doomed paramour, "kurt cobain makes my heart stop. but he's a shit"... goddamn blonde, blue-eyes-like-dinner-plates, piscean men.
i read that, and i knew exactly what she meant. that stupid, stupid feeling in at the bottom of your stomach... it's not nausea, but i am loathe to use the term 'butterflies'... maybe instead it's just the dread, the anxiety of knowing that this guy has the potential to, and most likely will, break your silly heart.
oh, maybe that's a little overdramatic. but for all the heartbreak i've given and received, the ones dispensing it have always been cold, Teutonic, emotionless ghouls.
maybe i am just as clueless as miss parker (see previous post). maybe i feel like it's some sort of game; let's see if we can make this one work. instead of accepting incompatibility, it becomes a challenge.
a challenge i'll always lose.
i am really, really down today. it's been a steady pattern of that for a while now. and what timing, too. happy birthday, indeed.