I'm tired. I'm so tired. I'm so completely and totally and unequivically tired.

I'm so tired my tired is tired. My muscles ache. My hip hurts like someone's been jumping on it. My knees ache. My ankle feels like someone is whittling upon it with a hot penknife. The small of my back feels like someone's released those damned pirahna from last year. Nasty, nasty,nasty.

And damn it, don't start bitchin about my spelling. I'm too damned tired to care about spelling. Much.

What did I do to make myself so tired? A marathon sex romp? Nope. A power-lifting exhibition? Nope. A five mile walk? Not that either.

I got up at 7 this morning, after going to bed at midnight and actually falling asleep at about 1. Of course, I tossed and turned most of the night, so I got about 4 hours of sleep or so.

I went with my Mother to the old house to try and clean out my room. Remember my room? The one that's an absolute sty? You don't? Ask Sympatico. He saw it. Of course, the more remarkable thing is that he saw it and lived.

If I had the money to do so, I think I might just go through my room, pick out what I want and then hire someone to come and shovel out all the crappy clothes and junk that has accumulated. However, that is not the case. Therefore it is necessary for me to clean it out.

This also means that because I am cleaning out my room, I find things that I thought had been disposed of. For instance... the rose that Bryan bought me the day he told me he loved me. The same rose he made me promise to dry and keep forever. The same rose he held out to me just before he kissed me. The same rose he promised to build around (sending more roses, that means).

Amazing how all of that was bullshit, huh?

*shrugs*

So, I am assailed with boxes of things that I had completely forgotten about. the rose, for instance. And I want so desperately to crush it. I want so desperately to smash it into powder and send him the residue.

*shakes her head* Of course, that would be petty and foolish. And it would solve to only piss off his fiance. The woman he is going to be marrying in a month. Two years after he told me he loved me. Two years to the day.

Fuck me.

See? It's crap like this that makes me NOT sentimental.

I know so many people who save ticket stubs, airplane tickets, cards, flowers, etc. I don't do that very often. Or rather, I save that stuff but not because I'm sentimental... because I have been a packrat.

Regardless... I save ticket stubs in my jeans pocket until I do laundry. I save plane ticket vouchers until I've gotten back home and dumped out my suit case. I save suveniers as long as their useful, pretty or attractive. I do not save broken things just because someone once touched it.

*rolls her eyes*

But, for the farggin life of me, I can't understand why I don't just throw away that damned, fucking rose.

It seems so simple in my mind. So very simple.

1. Stand up

2. pick up rose

3. walk to garbage

4. crumple rose

5. drop crumpled rose in garbage can

6. close lid

7. sit back down

It sounds good in theory... but every time I pick that rose up, I see Bryan's eyes in my mind. I hear his voice. I feel his promises. And again I want to believe them. And again I begin to cry. And again I bite back the fucking tears which are nothing more than a sign of weakness and pettiness.

I get angry, and I decide I'm just gonna shove that dried, falling-apart dead flower into the trash... and I can't move my arm. And I can't let go. And I can't move it in any way that might damage it.

And I wonder why.

Do I hold on to that damned thing because I promised I would never get rid of it? Do I hold on because I made a promise and to me promises are supposed to mean something? Do I hold on to it because there are tears I haven't allowed myself to cry? Do I hold on to it so that when I find that man God has designed for me and he's holding me, I can look at that rose and finally see that there is at least ONE person in this entire world who actually keeps his promises?

And why the fuck am I tearing up over this???

I choose denial, thank you very much.

The rose is still at the other house.

I have mentioned this single, damned flower many times before. I have stated that I am going to throw it away before. I have stated that I DID throw it away. The problem is... I never threw it far enough away.

And, I can't figure out why I'm still holding on to it.

Talk about unrequited love...

Phil, Bryan, Matt, Dan, James, Ted, Tom, Jim... *shakes her head*

Maybe I should become completely non-sexual. I mean... not just celibate, but have some surgical thing that removes the part of my brain which continuously looks at that motherfuckingdamnedcocksuckingassinineraunchymonkeysixty-ninewhoring rose with any memory at all of yet another series of empty promises.

I fucking hate it when people break their promises. I really hate it.

I hate it more than I can ever express.

But I'm not bitter.