It has been some time since last I wrote. It hasn't been so easy but it has been tolerable. I have read The Good Earth. I am reading The Best of Robert Ingersoll, a fascinating fellow. I have his biography on order. It should be good. I think I have about 6-8 books started, which one shall I finish first?
My life really sucks, as I have said before. I really feel like I am living on time that is only made available for as long as I have the balls to gut it out. I suppose that is fair because it gives me some control. I went with suicidal thoughts for so many years and always assumed that one day I would say "enough" and I would check out. Turns out it isn't that easy, like so many have found out. I know a couple of people kind of depend upon me and I have unfinished business with Malia. I have messed up that relationship so much. She cannot think of anything to say to me and she won't even read chapter 1 of my memoir. I will not speculate in writing why I think she doesn't read it.
I only wish one thing right now. I wish that Judy or some female would come up to me and put her hands on my face and give me a big sensuous kiss and hold like she would never let me go. Then she would say, "Sweetheart, I am so sorry your life is a piece of shit. I just want you to know I care. I love you." Wouldn't that be a shock. No one has ever done that. Life could be so much simpler and more enjoyable, even when everything pretty much sucks.
My brain screeches to no end tonight. There were some shooting headaches, for brief instances and there were some new unpleasant sensations in the lobes, too. What the fuck is going to happen to me? Whatever it is, a lot of my remaining time is going to be miserable. And then there is the thing about what my demise will do to los otros. I still hold out for the truck getting me, a big stinking truck. So morbid, eh-try my shoes, my screaming brain. It might be more fun if it would talk to me instead of the incessant nagging.
I simply don't like the idea of louder and louder screaming in my head until I absolutely cannot tolerate it any longer. Perhaps the HaySeuss freaks are right, I must have done something really bad to piss the G-man off enough to do this to me. Soy es una persona muy malo y soy poseido por el diablo. What a stupid concept, I have just become an unlucky sob and that is all there is to it. How stupid, I am arguing with myself.
Wish me mucho gusto.
Herr Pedro
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