a few facts

I'm forgetting what she looks like, and her voice, and just about everything else. Just like all the rest of them. The only thing that's left is the memory of the filthy shit we did. That shit remains. But I can barely remember her face unless I try hard to think of pictures that were taken. I hope that someday she'll completely fade...gone from my mind, and more importantly from my heart and soul. I could bad mouth her some more but that'd do nothing for me. I've done everything there is to be done to move on. Nothing's left. Nothing at all. Just time, and time is a luxury that I'm taking full advantage of, even though I don't have a clue how long I've got. I don't really care anyways. I'm worthless.

I spend my days being -more than less- unproductive. I have no money left. I live back with my parents. I'm depressed. I don't have a job anymore. I wander from the house to down town, hang out with the smelly street musician, and a crazy Nepalise/Indian dude that's lots of fun (though often times way to enlightening), playing my didgeridoo/yidaki (okay, they're the same instrument, but I respect a few cultural differences), and somehow I know I'm just stalling. I'm waiting. I know I've got over 30,000 dollars of debt at age 18. That's bullshit. But that's life. I've got a failed career path as a pilot, and that's bullshit too. But that was me. When have I ever finished something. My grandparents asked me last night at a dinner when I was going to finish up my instrument rating (which I was a week from finishing before I quit) and move on to my commercial. Hmm....

The only good thing I have in my life is my relationship with Hannah. And while I love her -and I know I do- , after just a short time, it's scary to have one's life hinging again on a human being again. While I trust her, in the past that trust has been betrayed. And I'm scrambling as fast as I can to find other things that keep my eeking life afloat. Because sure as I'll wake up depressed tomorrow afternoon, she's going back home to Germany July. That's fucking iron-clad.

Iron-clad as the fact that I'm a worthless piece-of-shit, waste-of-perfectly-good-oxygen, good-for-shit, waste-of-perfectly-valuable-time, failure. And that will never change.