bobdiscord

it's my dad's birthday tomorrow. ... i wonder if any sort of emotion will even creep to the surface? i think i've blitzkreig'd my inner self this past year, 2003, the year of the fuckin' skull for mr. jones here. and it's so amazing how little anyone cares, and really, should anyone give a rat's ass? someone has to do it. that person happens to be me and what of it? there's already so much i keep very close, why everything else too? maybe job stories are like dreams and they just perpetually bore everyone who happens to be within earshot. maybe it's just me.
death dying pain and suffering, a smile and a 'how do you do?' a parade of the bereaved and torn apart...

fuck man, i miss camp.
-pce-