Garlic Heart meets the immovable force.

As the weeks since my breakup speed past, I find myself in uncharted waters emotionally. Usually by this point I'm so far past "over" that my ex-of-the-moment is little more than a funny anecdote told with cruel flair over drinks with my fellows or a promised-deleted picture or two  that's  shared to the delight of my bawdier friends.

Instead, in my weaker moments I find myself admitting that I'm still in love with Diana.

This hardly seems uncommon, judging from the torches carried by friends of mine who've recently ended relationships. But for me, it's a psychoemotional bomb that goes off every time I let it get the best of me. 

After a while, you start understanding the melancholy and the longing in a Daniel Johnston song. How one person can so succinctly personify everything you want in another human and then just disappear makes you feel a gamut of emotion that, particularly when you're someone like me who feels emotions distantly to start with, can cripple you.

She was always the one that was different- so against my "type". From the day I met her I always knew she'd be a significant force in my life. Sure, I always thought it would be a force that I grew old with, but sadly the cards weren't in my favour this time. 

I'm strong enough emotionally to be able to 'move on' and not let the specter of her ruin future relationships. But if honesty is permitted here- on a blog that no one reads- I'll admit that there hasn't been a day that's past since she broke up with me that I haven't thought about her. Even for a second; a song, a scent; something that makes me think of her and smile.

I swear, one day I'll find a girl that loves me back.

-'Well I once caused your cells to shimmer

And you once caused my cells to shimmer
Now we go all the night without love
Without love…' 

-Elvis Perkins

yours,

sp

I am all things phallic.

There are things you take for granted, having a penis. The inalienable right to always know where you're going regardless of the GPS telling you otherwise, the knowledge by sight alone which pepper is the hottest, and how to do manly things like changing windshield wiper blades.

I usually can't play the role of Alpha-Male. Hell, I'm usually hustling to even fulfill the role of "male"- so when things like the aforementioned windshield wiper situation come up, I tend to freeze. You can imagine then, when driving home today in a rainstorm, how awesome it was when my driver's side wiper blade shit the bed.

As I rolled back into Philly, I had two revelations:
1. Grocery Stores don't carry wiper blades.
2. When shopping for wiper blades at Target, check the Bluray section. Gotham Knight may be on sale.

Once home, with a windshield wiper blade (which as it turns out isn't one size fits all) a bottle of anti-depressants and a blu ray copy of Gotham Knight, I set towards figuring out how the fuck these things work. After about three attempts (which coincided with the three different illustrations on the back of the package) to fix the thing I just went for broke and managed the replacement. I think. I've yet to test it in foul weather.

But it LOOKS fixed. Which in the end is the biggest hurdle.