I think I may be on Wendy's cycle. She's got her PMS-y stuff and as of now, she's the only girl with whom I spend a large chunk of time. I'm constantly hungry, craving sweets, and bloated... don't forget moody and oft-sullen. Thats attractive. The lovelorn black hole I'm rockin' right now is enough to make me want to cut myself. Luckily, I'm not 14, and I've got a Robbie Williams and Diddy album double feature. If it were Fall Out Boy or somesuch I might be in trubbs.

Some people have real problems.

Molly was in and out of the hospital this week. She had a hyrniated disk in her neck that had to be operated on, and unfortchies the surgery was on her birthday. Talk about a blower. I feel for the poor gal and want a speedy recovery for my lovely Mamabear. I I yearn for more time to spend with her, but I've worked for about two weeks straight. Not that I ever work super hard, but for someone doped up on vicodin, well they can't exactly play with the boy getting off work at 1am.

The marathon is next Sunday. I'm bib #22155-- Those marine boys have no idea the ferocity I plan on bringing to the table. I'm so excited. I bought body glide, two new pairs of shoes (SALE!), and clif blocks today in anticipation. I'm so effin' stoked. Its coming.

I'm going a little bit batty. It's been five days since the marathon and I want to go running terribly. I'm craving a nice hour of pavement pounding, but unfortunately I could do real damage to myself if I were to actually go out and about. So, I'm just fantasizing about it.

Jon Jon sent me a pic of his Halloween costume, all black trenchcoat goodness, a sleek set of matching .9mm's, and black hockey mask goodness; an inspired Black Jason. Also in the email? A picture of Josh and me. Aside from the fact that I need to stop seein old pictures of the two of us, I also don't need to be reminded of how fat I had gotten then. I looked a bit muppety with the weight. Oh, sure, not Kirsty Alley fat, but I was definatly chunk-o. Another reason I want to get the turf under my stride sooner rather than later.

But, ya, Tuesday was a good Halloweenin'. I rummaged through my clothes bins and pulled out my ancient football practice jersey and threw on Chris's green track pants. A nice black line done with old halloween lipstick under each eye and I was set to go. Football player it was. Nothing for ol' Guinness's books, but when an intoxicated tommy-gun totting moll asked an inebriated me (on a drunk bus, no less) what team I was on, I screamed "YOU KNOW WHAT TEAM I PLAY FOR!"

Fun. Fun. Fun.

I'm not here to judge the happenstance drunkenss of others, but I think that Team Sketch did very well. Puja played shortly after noon until right around dusk, her in a football jersey with the same lines as I had under my eyes. We were adorable. After that, we ended up at Toledo Lounge with (roll call!) Jordan, Nelina (bartending), Geoffery, Chris, Jason Lemon (Geoff's friend), and Rose (also G's buddy). From there, Chris and I hit up Tonic (after some minor barhopping), catchin up with Steve and Lisa.

Copious consumption continued until I was face down on steve's bed-- the same place I awoke November 1st.

There will be pictures shortly, with any luck.

Oh, Trevis. If only I could apolgoize more. When your best friend died, all we could do was hold a moment in time for her. I was so selfish, I didn't get the gravity of losing a best friend, even one that had been so distant for so long. You lit some candles, and I couldn't comprehend your grief. We had been waiting for her to OD and die, or (barring that) some sort of other combination o' awfu. We all guesssed that it would eventually come, and none of us were shocked. And I thought my nontear stained face was okay.

And then my best friend died. And I've sobbed for her, but not in recent years.

But tonight I sobbed for Emily. Woe is the holidays, and I miss her. I'm gonna visit her grave for Christmas, I think, and I'll bring that bitch cookies. I never bake, but I will for her. I'll have Mark or Geoff supervise. I can't take it. I've never missed her more. I want to believe she'd be proud of the man I am.

Emily'd be so proud. She'd be angry that I ran a marathon, but share my bed nonetheless. Odds are good she'd wear the pajamapants she always wore (I haven't worn them out or thrown them away). I miss her so much. She'd call me out for days. She'd send me an awful IM.

I love the holidays, but, oh yes, I hate them too.