Ever since I was a kid, I have had these random attacks of horrible, crushing sadness. They're fairly rare -- they hit me maybe a handful of times a year. And they're set off by random things. One that I always remember is seeing an old man eating lunch in McDonald's by himself when I was a kid.
And you might think, "Well, that is sad." That's what The Boy said when I was just trying to explain to him. Sure, maybe it is sad. But maybe it isn't. I do shit by myself all the time. He might like eating lunch by himself. Maybe he's out running errands and was hungry and didn't want to eat in the car. It certainly doesn't have to be sad.
The thing that set me off tonight was the guy who took the lone speaker I was toting to the dumpster behind The Boy's building on our last sweep of his apartment. He'd apparently been there before and took The Boy's dresser and some other stuff. And there's no fucking reason for me to feel sorry for him or anything. Shit, he was getting some free stuff. But something about him or the situation just set me off. From that moment on, I've been wanting nothing more than to just lay down and cry my fucking eyes out.
The end of moving The Boy was easy. I think it was only a couple of hours and two carloads for each of us to the new place. Of course, he'd been at it since 10:30 this morning. Hey -- I offered to take the afternoon off. I didn't even get very sweaty or dirty. Awesome!
Fucking Twins. Yes, I know them getting this far was beyond what anyone thought they'd do. I just got that talk from The Boy. But I am disappointed, dammit. Oh well. Now I don't have to worry about trying to record Earl/The Office/30 Rock and watch the debate on Thursday.
Um ... yay?