The Last Year of Life

Day 9. Living Room. 5:19PM
Mindy came over unannounced last night, and I was watching Jeopardy!. She brought a bag of coke with her. We each did two fat hoggers and stared for awhile. I promptly slipped into a talking mode that I haven't been in for such a long time. I talked too much about a lot of things; the perception and dissection of my personal reality. She didn't want to hear about it, I bet. She says she did, she just let that gleam in her eyes focus on me. She was really listening, but I bet she really didn't want to hear about it. But, frankly, I don't get the chance to talk openly all too often, even though that is mostly my own doing. I lapsed into a tangent about how I know I'm going to be dying, and she stopped me there. No more gleam. She cares about something, I'm not sure what. She didn't talk about her father at all, and I didn't ask because she would have talked about him without me asking if she wanted to talk about him. Someone told me that they knew she was in love with me, but I think that is a load and a half. They were just speculating, but they said 'know'. People do that all the time. I'm not going to do that anymore. She might love the idea that she has of me, this bottom-feeder with a decent heart and a lot of time to think about the intangibles. She is not afforded that luxury. Her mind is not programmed that way. She takes it in and processes it right there and makes it happy whether it's happy or not. That's why I could never love her. I talked way too much and she went home really late. I didn't go to sleep I just shivered and today at work I shot a bloody snot strand from my nose into my hand and Degrand was revolted.