Where one line ends and the other begins

(Isn't that stalker behavior?)

I went to Erika's work today. I walked through the aisles acting like I hoped I didn't see her. But, by the last aisle, I just had to ask someone. One of the employees told me she works in the morning, and all together I felt all those little threads coming together. As I walked out of her retail store, I can't help but wonder; is this healthy?

I like to think that there's a point where pick up artistry ends, and real life begins. That I could just stand outside someone's house with a box radio over my head, John Cusack style, and pry into my insides hoping that you'd answer the door. And maybe if that doesn't work, I'd go to the next door, the next girl, the next target. But, that would be bad. Bad for my health, bad for my bank account, and I hate that everyone's right when they say it's a complete waste of time.

It's not exactly oneitis as it is to be compelled by someone. I don't think you ever forget the people you think too dearly about. I don't want to use words such as infatuation or love or whatever simply because it entails a larger enticing very changeable meaning to it. But, it is what it is. If I just kept busy, if I just kept moving forward, I wouldn't have this problem. But I do. Maybe it's my bank account, my lack of actual "real" friends, not being in college, not having a social job. Maybe it's me. I don't know.

I'll be honest, I have thought about coming back to people's work after hours again. Hurting myself even more in thinking that there'd be hope for myself. To be honest, it hurts to even mention it. I've thought about coming to Krista's work and buying her a white mocha dropping it off with a minor hello, and a slight, "hey, remember me?" And coming back to Erika's house, and dropping flowers by the door, like the funeral to our friendship. I've thought about it all. And somewhere deep down, I still think it's possible. And somewhere more obvious, I know I'm just shooting myself in the face.

-Trig

On a different note:
My sister and her friends are in her room talking about marriage and life partners and guys who bring strippers home who have 3 different baby momma's, and hate hate hate. Go team! It's like self mutilation.