hngr xmtr s7

Boy Oqay that's what I thought boy oh boy was that a mistake. But how I was I to know? How was any of us? And lest we not rock down the strange metaphysics of worry and doubt I'll detour shall I a brief digression to explain further: It was June, yes;m, the week after mother passed and I was staring into a veined-stone ashtray when the cobbled ground suddenly vaulted up as if on a fulcrm into the azure sky and I found myself staring through throbbing blinkered eyelids at the navy blue scrubs stretched taut against the robust outer thigh of an EMT named Kimberly asking rather measuredly if I was alright and if I could hear her. Yes.  Yes, I suppose so. They offered to take me to the hospital but I demurred, thing is, I had a date with a woman and I was excited to secure her into the cathartic acquaintaince of Chekov's Cognac.  Fate fashions it's own. That date was cancelled, postponéd, reschedulmont. Here we are in April, Here we are in June, Here we are July 13 gone all too soon. "So you fainted?" CJ texted, southern belle emoji. I guess you could call it that says I, attiring myself rightly in genuine shirt with collar to draw attention away from my bloated lower chin. "And then?" we're waiting from happy gilmore emoji And then whose thighs these is I think I know. "Did you know her?" No. No tie neither nor do I don the Vans, I brandish the bowlers shoes because the smell the least bad and dig the nice pants out from the zanzibarian backwater recesses of my closet.  Seventeen months, gosh. Not prepared but whisked. The lights off upon arrival. Do I have the right date and time? Wherefore art thine embers in the engine of endurance? After an hour and she ain't shown I texted CJ I dunno asked to stop by since by my calculation his apartment was close-ish. "Sure" BeourGuestLumiere.gif Cut to purusal of his record collection, lots of DMB and REM, he said "I gotta say, I'm sorry about your mom." "Yeah." Strange. By being in space there with him I realized then that that stick-up-your-ass way about him-  that way I didn't like, in person -- was mostly projection, and had in fact entirely gone away while our relationship had gone virtual. He broke out the booze and I protested meekly that I wasn't drinking and a minute later his twelve-pack was gone and a minute after that I was suddenly on the floor again, CJ there with that salubrious tube and a worried look on his face, Zepelin rocking on the hi-fi. A bruise on my head this time. A quick query online yielded to the dubious bent of bad blood pressure so burdened with this suspicion I fried, the following morn a packet of porkchops for breakfast. The daylight outside greasy on the trees, I chewed and sent some texts and thought of my parents, so tempermentally opposed, hurtling like a stop-motion feather, towards a deep pock of ambivalence, me. Oh boy, I wondered, remembering meals with forced conversation. The more I wondered the quieter the phone became. Strange, I wondered when I'd decided to forgive them both, I sat there alone, smoking. Boy Oqay that's what I thought, oh boy but was  it any a mistake? How I was I to know? How is any of us?