Resistance is Futile

I see this... "Resistance is Futile" every day when I log in to blog....
I don't know why I wrote that, but I guess because I'm putting off the inevitable...

Depressed tonite, even though I had a good time. The guy I met from MySpace, M. & I hung out tonite... I still think he's a great guy.. etc..etc... cute, funny, ...and intellectually stimulating... and I think we could be good friends. I don't see anything else becoming of it, which is good, but also weird. I'm not used to hanging out with a guy, that doesn't flirt.... with me. I'm not sure how to handle it, and I question what he really thinks of me... we'll see, I had an enjoyable time regardless. He likes to drink though... not beer, nooo. he's a wine drinker...

So now that I'm home, who comes to my mind again, but T..... My stupid.. stupid... thoughts.. " I can't him out of my head.. " . I miss him. I want him. I need him.

Scratch that, I don't need him. But I sometimes feel as if I do. All I do is hurt, and allow myself to be hurt by his actions, or lack therefore.

None of it is important any longer... though....

I've realized some things lately.. only which of one I can think of... so I'll talk about... that. I lack passion. At least I think I do. I have to think about it some more..but.... from my talk with M. tonite.....

He was talling me about Mozart, and he was passionate, when telling me so.... and he asked me.. "are you a fan of classical music?" I replied, " no, I'm not really a fan of anything... I like almost everything"

Which is true, I do.. I like variety.. same ole, same ole gets boring, even the fucking internet. I sit here, alone, as I have most nites this week.. I feel lost, forgotten, and unloved. I know.. I am loved, not sure by who or how much, and that the reason I'm being this way.. is just years of fucked up habit... years of feeling unloved and unwanted... and the rest of the years trying to forget about all the stuff that happened.

WHAT HAPPENED?
too much to go into in depth tonite...
but lets start with this.....

A girl, 14 years old, has her 20 something bf staying at her house (that she lives in with her parents)... gets pregnant... and her father says the guy has to marry her.. and "make it right". That girl, was my mother... thing is, I don't know why the father cared, my grandpa, cuz I'm sure he fucked her many times before my dad did. Literally, I'm speaking.. or so the story goes.

So they get their own apt, my father and mother, and get married, a nice wedding in the Crosby church, and a Lathrop reception at the firehall next door. All the works, even a cake,I'm sure, made by my Aunt Donna. Wouldn't be a Lathrop wedding without that, and beer.... So Carol, my mother, gives birth to a 6 lb, 9oz ( I think) baby girl at 6:54am on February 15th, 1979..... just 6 months after her wedding. An ugly baby... tiny and wrinkley... I'm brought into the world. I've never heard a story about my birth, which doesn't surprise me.. because for months after my birth I'm sure my mom was too strung out to remember anything... Since I was born, my parents thought it was time to party. My mom sold her foodstamps for dope, and anything she could get her hands on... This came the time for my saviour, my gramma, probably the only thing that gave me stability in my whole life. She really is my hero, though I've never told her that, or realized that till now....

I went to my grams house every other weekend, this became ritual the next 13 or so years.... (TBC....)