Just got back from my weekly constitutional. And when I say weekly constitutional I don't mean any founding father kinda bullshit, I'm talking good ol' fashioned drinking wit da guys. Awe yeah.
Da guys and Erin Mccarthy. That Erin. SHe's like a breath of fresh air when you've been trying to breath poop. And I don't mean that as a euphimism for poopy smelling air. I mean poop. Good times were had by all. I saw some Inanimate object theatre, which I thought had died with my retiring the half and half cups at IHOP many years ago. Fun Fun.
Had a deeply upsetting conversation beforehand with some fellow actors. One fellow, Matthew, in particular. Don't get me wrong, I love Matthew. Honestly, I do. He's a good actor, a good guy, and he's getting me a job coming up with VYT.
But the passed week he keeps giving me shit about Meg. He keeps goading me into marriage. Or trying to anyway. I finally snapped and let fly with everything that went down the last two summers. You see all he sees is her and I now, AND only in public. He doesn't know what really happens. Behind closed doors. Blissful ignorance which makes us look like a perfect couple to him. The truth shut him up. I wanted to hit him, and god bless him, he knew it. He actually pointed out that he knew it.
Anyway, he agreed to back off and understood my hesitation. I don't hesitate because I'm worried about me getting hurt or me losing out on anything. It's not a fear of commitment it's a fear of myself. I have shown myself to be weak, and in all honesty I can't say I trust or respect me much anymore, so why should I expect somebody else to do either one as long as we both shall live?
I don't know. I have a feeling that I have found my one of my own little personal hells that we all seem to enjoy putting ourselves through.
Well, Satan, throw another few pounds a coal on the fire. It's cold in here, you pussy.
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