Rant of the Insomniac

A quarter after 4am. I can’t sleep. I had a full on panic attack/nightmare about my ex girlfriend, Leah. Leah Helen Baker. What a psycho. She was both mentally and physically abusive to me. I’m pretty sure, after I finally severed all contact with Evil Incarnate, that I had PTSD. I might have it now. All her psychotic quirks, shaped me to be this fearing guy who is so afraid of offending someone that he is overtly nice to anybody. It takes me a long time before I can poke fun at those I care about. I wish I wasn’t afraid.
I’m quite in love with a girl, now. She’s perfectly awesome. She’s kind, intelligent, more beautiful than anyone. She’s a gamer. One of her best qualities is her acceptance of me. I am broken. I say it all the time. She thinks I’m perfect. Sigh. Nope. I’m messed up. But she is so accepting.
I am afraid that I’ll offend her. Not sure how, but history repeats itself. I apologize ahead of time for things that don’t or won’t offend her, just because a little part of my brain thinks I’ll get hit. I don’t honestly think that she’d hit me, but my brain still thinks Leah is trying to hunt me down to finish me off.
I’m always worried that I’ll annoy her. I don’t ask about stuff. Little stuff. How was your day. How are you feeling. How was your vacation. I know I don’t. I hope I have the fore-thought to ask her about her day when I talk to her later. Every time I would ask these innocent questions to Leah, we’d fight. I lost a pair of glasses to the “How was your day?” question. It started with “You should KNOW how my day went!!” And ended with me needing a new pair of glasses because they didn’t stand up to a fist. Again, I don’t think that my love will do this too, but blow a firecracker next to a war vet and see if he freaks out.
I dunno. I’m not even sure why I’m typing all this out. Much less on the Internet, where it’s visible for the entire world to see. Some troll will follow the link from my bio and think he has dirt on me now. He’s wrong. You’ll never hurt me like that C U Next Tuesday. Or maybe someone will feel the need to make Leah Helen Baker’s life miserable, but how would they know that she grew up in Cottage Grove with her mom Corrine Baker or that she now works as a nurse (apparently Nurses don’t need souls) in Fargo North Dakota? If only that knowledge could be passed along somehow.
All you readers that wanted me to type something, get this tired, crazed rant instead of a goofy haiku or something.
I should sleep. It’s Saturday. Maybe something good will happen. Ha.
I’m calling it now. The Minnesotan Armadillos will want to hang out, but not until 7:30pm, when they’re tired and irritable. They’ll want to play video games that they haven’t played since last visit, which means that they’re out of practice, and get irritated. Mentat will fight with his Mac, because despite it being “superior” can’t play games worth a damn. Megazord will say something borderline angry towards Captain Ireland, when he’s only trying to help. Messenjah, 2nd Degree and I are the only ones not having some issue. Oh, and all the while, they’ll be imbibing alcoholic beverages, because we can’t have fun sober. I’ll nurse a Mike’s the entire night, get buzzed and then watch as others not have self control. Or maybe this all happens on Sunday. You’ll see. I’ll see, rather.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my friends. I’m just too kind to verbalize this in person. So maybe they see this rant. Big deal. Observations I’ve made. Don’t like it, don’t make it true. Maybe they’ll get mad at me. Fine. It’ll almost be like my previously stated fear of offending people is spreading to others. You know, if we started to hang out before dusk, you guys wouldn’t be tired and irritable. I wouldn’t be either. I’m tired and irritable right now. I’m getting mad, having a falsified conversation with my friends in my head as I type this out with long run on sentences that I continue to type even though I called attention to it. I should just go to sleep. A good morning’s sleep should clear my head. I’ll wake up at the crack of 2pm, thinking briefly that someone had called, when in reality it’s a tweet about Mentat’s cat or something inane. See, I’m becoming sardonic and rude. Time for bed.

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