The Continuing Chronicles of the Hopeful...

Okay, so yesterday was a damn good day.

Friday night I crashed at Tim's house; slept on the floor of his room, chatting deep into the night in the darkness and warmth of his room. I started out by going to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," but got a text from Tim about an hour in, saying simply, "Call me." I left the movie, and called him to discover that he was at Brothers' Bar and needed a ride home. So I picked him up, took him home, et cetera.

Saturday began with coffee, Bloedow's donuts and television. It continued with Martin joining and Katie doing dishes in the kitchen, listening to the musical tones of her two favorite men in Winona playing some NHL video game. Things happened, the day continued, blah blah blah.

Last night, Tim and I went for a nighttime drive up to and through Stockton, looking for a dark part of the sky to watch stars. Tim kept complaining about the moon being so bright... but she was laughing at him. And, inside, so was I.

We didn't find too many stars. We did find a creepy-ass park in the middle of nowhere, both of us getting thoroughly freaked-out.

I crashed in his roommate's room last night. This morning, Rachel called me and asked me to come pick her up at the bus stop. I told her I would, that she should call me when she gets into town.

Tim got pissed. Called me a sellout.

I turned and left.


Who the hell does he think he is, that he has the right to try and make me feel bad about myself for showing human compassion?

What the hell?



Grr...