I'm back from Outer Space

I did leave the keys, and now I am walking out the door, but only because you told me to, wanted me to no matter how hard I tried to dig to the core of you where I knew you did want to be happy, and you knew you could be have a life with me.

Waiting for the train, about to get off the G train in Clinton Hill, if it ever comes, at the same spot I first moved to in Brooklyn, with an almost immediate ex, around the corner where I would live with the love of my life a year later.

But I'm going to meet a Philly metal chick in BedStuy, where we'll get crazy high, somewhat drunk, and say goodnight early. My current last female situation is at her parent's house in Cape Cod after I stopped her from killing herself, and my finding out she's had three other full relationships outside of me.

I'm pretty good at dating in NYC. It takes time to see what's drawn to you and what you're drawn to, but by the time that happens you're an expert in maladjusted twenty year olds with daddy issues, cutting scars, and severe sexual dysfunction.

Eventually you figure out (right?) and you can see the crazy, minimizing the emotional fallout, and at this point do you have any feelings that haven't been invalidated so many times that you actually care about anything but the story?

I like being insane. I enjoy having to suddenly carry a girl to the ER because of her drinking problem, getting emasculated with drunken fists to the face, being told that she told everyone that she was scared of you, that you are emotionally manipulative while you spent the better part of a year you should have spent recovering from a break-up counseling an anorexic, manic, schizophrenic.

I've done my duty to the best of my abilities as someone who considers himself a decent person.

Now, I got shit to do.