The rain is still coming down in sheets. The streets of town are flooded, as they are want to do when it rains for longer than three hours. I listen to the rain, its stacatto uneven punctuated by the sharp rise in pace whenever the wind blows. My neck and sinuses ache dully, but nothing else beyond that.
I keep starting sentances, but each time I do it just seems so pointless, so bitchy, that I just have to stop and delete it. There is nothing really to say except what I am saying now. That there is nothing to say.
Godfuckingchrist. Rambling like that, you'd think I was a writer. I just seem to come up against this wall every so often, and the rain is only making it worse. Not quite anger at people, but more than frustration. But its a selfish emotion. I'm going out of town this weekend, and as such, Erik is going to be alone this weekend. I feel guilty, and annoyed that his roomie wolnt be home enough to take care of the dogs so he could go somewhere he wants to go. But what can I do? Nothing, and it upsets me.
I'm just sort of here, now, listening to music, and the rain. It's not true, what they say. The Devil is not just an angel in bondage. The Devil is inside each and every one of us, and his intentions are our own best ones. Its only that his way of getting results hurts people.