haunted soia admittedly, most days it passes through my mind just as much as my dad does... just brief drips of sadness. i've done all there was to do, in reaction to it, i think. but there are certain times where I remember bits and pieces that crack through a little more... ...that time i went crazy about your hands and how i'd never see or feel them again and how i loved them and how the idea of detachment from something that obviously wasn't working still ripped me through and through ...sight of a picture brings back memories... times we cried because we couldn't see each other for a few months... touching your cheek, memorizing your face as you slept... strawberry pie... the first time you really yelled at me at the entrance to your house and you laying on your driveway and all that DESPERATION... ...how you moved on with the blink of an eye to a girl who I hate to admit seems a great deal better for you than i ever was ... and the irony that to be a better person for you (and me) i had to lose you, lose all chance for you to know or care that i have changed in ways that you at one time would have appreciated so much ...all those times i created things that i was depressed about even though i was just depressed because of the imbalance in my brain, and my misunderstanding of myself A Lot. There was So Much. and now there's hardly anything... 021004 ... jane last night, we got room number 123, the same room we used to get every sunday morning when it was still all secretive. i was just tired of going out to bars, tired of the same routine, the monday hangovers, the exhaustion - not to mention i hadn't had enough sleep in nearly a week. we brought the dog with her vest, in case anyone wanted to start something, and a bottle of champagne, of which i only ended up having a glass. after twisting the sheets, he lit up a smoke and we watched some television. some adam sandler movie was on, something i had low expectations about that surprised me. i actually got choked up at one point and i guess he did too, because he got up and excused himself. i could tell he was upset, but i didn't think it was because of the movie. when he came back out, he tells me that he didn't dream for years. he didn't dream for years, and now that sam is dead, he is dreaming. sam is visiting him in his dreams, and it's torturing him in his sleep. sam tells him everything is going to be okay, and that he is doing a good job, and thanks him for taking care of his daughters. and one may think this sounds all well and good - why would this torture him? sam's haunting is a reminder that sam is gone. that we must all wake up and live in this horrible samless world. that our jobs all suck and even crawling to the bottom of a bottle doesn't bring sam back. that young girls lose their father. that good people die and douchebags live on and make our lives a living hell. sam is gone. we'll never hear his voice again. i'll never smell his patchouli incense, never see his rock display to which i've contributed, never go to his house for a barbecue, where i'm distracted by his shirtlessness and pierced nipples. his dedication to his daughters is a void like a whirlpool. but sam doesn't visit me in my dreams. i'm no more haunted than the trees. but S, and the towncar he used to drive, are plagued with his absence. the reliability of the world is down a disturbing number of notches, and the assholes won. and me, i can't sleep either, but i don't get any messages. sam's pendant hangs above my bed to ward off dark spirits, not to attract the benevolent ghosts of my friends that have passed. so S remains the only conduit through which sam lives on. and i'm just hoping he is strong enough this time, that he can hang in there and stream these messages, these hauntings. because it's better knowing sam is still here somewhere than the absolute lack of him. 101025 what's it to you? who go blather from