what i really meant to say...

i want to write about what an amazing time we had today at the celtic classic, how we got these welsh cookies that are like thin tea biscuits and are amazing, i want to pretend i'm not bawling and that my head is clear and that i am fine.
i can't.
i just finished reading "All We Can Handle" by Andrew Dainoff, which Scotty gave to me, after much prodding and trying to get me to buy it myself. I can't tell you about it. You need to read it yourself. If you've ever loved someone and then they've been taken away from you, it will hit you harder. If you've every lived in Manhattan, or loved Manhattan, or thought you might be gay, it will hit you harder. If you haven't thought or experienced any of these things, it will still hit you.
I keep going over it in my head. Two years. How? I just don't understand. They want me to go to my uncle's retirement party next saturday. Everyone has forgotten. Everyone except for me. I still don't have full metal jacket. I still haven't even seen the whole movie. The wild card race is tearing me apart. forever, or until the phillies win the series. its just repeating in my head. its been two years and i haven't figured out how to live again. i pretend. i laugh. i obsess. i run. i don't live.
i don't remember how.

"what i really meant to say, is i'm dyin here inside and i miss you more each day there's not a night i haven't cried..."