Happy New Year, Asshole.
It feels good to say that.
The ‘asshole’ part. Nothing about this new year is happy yet.
I actually don’t feel like saying much today except that I hate Steve Perry. Oh, and Keith Roth on Hair Nation.
Fucking Journey.
I flip on the radio and hear “they say that the road ain’t no place to start a family / right down the line it’s been you and me / and lovin’ a music man ain’t always what it’s s’posed to be” and fuck if I can’t flip it away. Stupid Faithfully. Jen told me that it was one of the songs that reminded her of me, so of course it’s now one of the songs that now reminds me of her. God, everything reminds me of her.
Stupid stuff, you know? Like last night. I was sitting in my room, staring at that photo I took out of the box, and tracing the smile on her face. I went to put it on the nightstand and had to move the alarm clock to make room, and I had a flashback to when we first met in England. She was jetlagged beyond belief, and had crawled into bed to take a nap. I fell asleep beside her, and when the alarm went off to wake her for dinner, she leaned across me to turn it off and was surprised to find me there.
That’s one of my favorite memories of her.
Seeing her all sleepy and warm and feeling her lay across me even for a second; it was wonderful.
All that from a damned alarm clock! I can’t even being to fathom how hard it will be to go through the truck. I should just send it back to Ma and John, but I don’t want to part with it yet.
Not yet.
Maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Santa about that.
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