Well…I fucked up.  I should have tried to get a hold of that dude on Thursday.  I missed him on Friday so now I pretty much come to the part where it get’s worse before it gets better because Sunday night/Monday morning I pretty much lose contact with the outside world.  No phone, no internet, cell phones turned off so…

I’m sure he has stuff in the works but he will not be able to get a hold of me.

The more I think about it the more I think I probably deserve it.  I swore an oath to my country and I didn’t live up to it.  There are people who took the same oath I did and they are in the sand and in the mountains risking their lives getting shot at and blown up.  So my life is gonna get rough, so what. I’ve let down and betrayed my family and friends, way the hell should I deserve better.  I’m a vet but in name only I didn’t do anything to DESERVE IT.  People thank me for being in the Army for having been in the Army and I feel ashamed, because I wasn’t.  When I was growing up I was a stpuid kid running around in the woods pretending to be a solider…this isn’t any different I was just a tired old man pretending.  Pretending I could be more than I am.  I deserve this I desevre worse.  I’m just so fucking tired.  I don’t know what it is about life that’s so friggin hard but I just can’t seem to get it right.  So many wrong choices(choices because I can’t fucking remember how to spell desicions and I’m supposed to be a writer-that’s supposed to be the one thing I’m good at, shit! what a fuck up.  I’m the Tom Cruise of life.  That my review of Tom Cruise, ok but he never did a part ten guys cold have done as well or better, and that’s me…the tin dog, fifth wheel, never did anything 50 other people couldn’t have done better.

Sorry I know I’m a pain in the ass, but I need to write it out of my head, it’s just so overwhelming now, th fear, the hopelessness, I’m just so fucking tired…and she’s not there…and never will be.  my jungle queen.  It’s from The Max, by the way by Sam Keith-big purple super hero, doesn’t matter.  there was a quote in it, he’s talking about This girl Julie-his jungle queen.  “For her…I could be a hero.”

I spent my whole life looking for her, my Julie, my Rose, My jungle queen…I think it may be too late now.

You know the story about L Frank Baum and Stephen King?  Baum was going to burn the Wizard of OZ and his wife saved it.  King threw away Carrie and his wife saved it.  So many great artists who never would have made it with out…her, without their jungle queen and I wonder sometimes if I’m the story of what happens if they hadn’t met that special someone.  I think it would make an interesting Bio.  How he failed and why I think it would be something people could learn a lot from, but no one would read it.  Peopel don’t like to read about the loosers, no one ever what’s to believe they are or could be THAT guy.  SOMEBODY has to be that guy…maybe it’s me.

I’m sorry.  I just wish someone could undrestand all this shit in my head.  It hurts so much, and I don’t mean the headaches.  I mean the pain in my head that makes me want to go to sleep and not wake up, the pain that makes me want it to just be over, the pain that reminds me every day I’ll never find her.  I’ll be the old lady living in a house full of cat’s that no one remembers because I’ve worn out all the friends who tried to help with bull shit like this.

It will get better, some how, but will it ever get right.  It just doesn’t seem like so much to ask the world, I tiny little corner to call my own, someone to share it with, to write and maybe, just maybe entertain somebody.  That’s a laugh…who’s gonna pay for shit I can’t get people to read for free for christ sake.

I’m worrying you and I’m sorry I really am I probably shouldn’t even send this, or I should put it on the fucking blog where no one but Coop will see and that’ll be like a week from now and it’ll all be in the past.  That whould be even more assinine though because by then No one will be able to get a hold of me and you’d all worry even more and you shouldn’t.  One I’m not for it and two I’m like a coachroach, I’m not that easy to kill.  And as much as I might want to fold my hand and walk away from a life that’s just becoming unbareable.  I won’t.  Because that would only make it worse, worse for the people I left behind and I’ve caused them enough trouble.  This is the closest thing I’ve got to a pill to make it better.  Writing it out and hoping that maybe, just maybe some one understands how muther fucking hard it is.

I’m just so fucking tired.

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