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 ^{(it's beta!)}

it's raining. i know this not because i can see it, or even hear it. i always wear headphones when i walk, in an attempt to drown out my thoughts, but this fails.

no, i cant see or hear it.

i can just feel it.

i love the rain, when i feel it on my back and shoulders, it feels like an ex lover trying to coax me back inside.

this thought makes me laugh.

possibly because i've only had two lovers, and neither ever tried to coax me back. one succeeded, but, well, she didn't really try to avoid it.

but i figure the main reason i'm laughing is because of how cliché the thought is. nothing is more self loathing then a cliché draped in flesh.

this makes me laugh some more, because nothing is more cliché then despising one's own lack of originality.

this is depressing, because i realize that to be cliché is cliché, to realize and hate that one is a cliché it also cliché. and realizing that all that all of this is cliché is also cliché.

depressing.

i'm starting to hate the word cliché.

the rain turns the asphalt into a mirror. it reminds me of the warriors. i love that movie. i envy the warriors, because even though their journey may be almost pointless, they at least know where they're going.

i know i'm walking back to my apartment, but beyond that, what?

i'd be surprised if i can manage to fall asleep before four in the morning.

i can't sleep anymore.

i lie down, and all i can stop my head from racing, and my muscles refuse to relax.

my legs are cold. i'm wearing shorts. it's november 16th, and if my grandmother was here, she'd call me crazy.

but she's not.

i haven't seen her in a long time.

didn't go to visit during the summer because i was working.

didn't go for thanksgiving because i had school.

next time i see her will be christmas.

my grandfather, her husband, my fathers father may go to jail.

he shot a moose, and used my fathers tag.

ninety percent of the time this would not be a problem. however, the ministry of national resources decided to make an example out of the greatest and kindest man i know, aside from my father.

the meat, instead of being packed for me and my family, will be given to the natives.

this offends me, for some reason.

living off the land is more a part of my family then 90% of the natives on the reserves these days.

whatever.

i cross the one way street and reach my front door.

i've never not fumbled for my keys.

we never locked our house at home.

but then again, i'm not at home anymore.

and it still hasn't sunk in.