Caverns and Craters

Someone has really got it out for me up there. I know I told God to "Smite me" the other day, but I didn't mean for him to take such a long time at it. Bad luck doesn't come in threes. Or twos. It comes pouring out in torrents, shitting all over the semblance of peace I managed to create since the last hurricane.
Dramatic? Well, yes.
I know it can get worse.
It began with Alec's departure. It was something I had been dreading for months. I never expected myself to feel quite this way about it though.
As a rule, I don't miss people very much.
He's been away in my dream town for about three days.
The Tri-Cities feels so empty.
I looked at all the things I love to do, my painting, my book, my guitar, my camera...I couldn't bring myself to even touch them. I laid in bed for two days.
I suppose that is the definition of depression. Not wanting to do the things you love, feeling like getting out of bed is a great and awful chore, not bothering to eat, letting the dishes in the sink mold again (I poured some bleach on them for the smell), crying about nothing.
I can't bring myself to think about Haley's impending departure.

I don't want to remember my Great Grandmother gasping for breath while drunken fuck jobs cried about gypsies.

I feel like an outsider to the whole world. Like I'm running in circles while everyone else goes marching ahead.

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on

The Weepies

Now I'm sitting on my bed in Jack's smoking robe. Trying to play my guitar. And I've listened to this song "World Spins Madly On" about ninety times now.
I hate CBC.
I hate Statistics.

I wish I had a job. A purpose. Or maybe even just a healthy dose of serotonin.
I'm so unhappy, I feel like my plants may wither and die from being forced to endure my toxic aura.
Well that's all folks.

My Will and Testament

If I am to perish from my swiftly worsening disease, I thought it might be prudent to compose a list of beneficiaries in the event of my death.
I write to you all wearing my rabbit fur coat and shivering desperately. I do not know how many hours, or minutes I have left on the firm soil. My first request is to be cremated, to go out in the smoke of flame and glory. Preferably viking style, you know flaming arrows launched at my raft full of kindling? And I would go sailing down the Columbia river, oh what a sight to behold!
Haley,
You were a wonderful friend and sister; I know I borrowed beverages and cigarettes too often. So I am leaving you about fifteen camel no. 9's (100's) and the five dollars and forty seven cents in my checking/savings account. Please get yourself a venti pumpkin spice latte and enjoy every last ounce.
Nick,
Please dear most-of-the-time lover, know that I loved you dearly. I leave you the recording equipment and the clown painting. I know how much you love it. (Hah.) Also, you can have my laptop. Since you did give it to me originally. Make sure to delete or at least hide any racy photos you find. That would be most appreciated.
Alec,
Please take the remainder of all of my paintings. Unless you are going to keep them in another goddamn closet, in which case, don't bother. You also inherit all of my stories and my much loved black leather notebook filled with Isabelle Sands.
Gary,
You get my nylon string guitar. And my Dreamcast.
Dad,
Use my college money to go somewhere fantastic. You deserve it.

At my funeral please play, "Asleep."
And don't cry dear friends and relations. I'll be in a better place.
Or if Christianity is correct...Hell's fiery inferno.