Bobby and I

Every online perch I call home must have an obligatory Bobby Burgess post. This is that post.

What helps most in processing through my warring emotions and primal desires is reading how others have acclimated and advanced onward, as Bobby accounts:

4/24/03
8/7/03
10/4/03
2/4/04
3/21/04
4/8/04
6/12/04

The timeline seems painfully familiar, and it never really ends, right? Stages are supposed to progress linearly, like Super Mario Brothers, but all I end up doing is taking the warp pipe back to start. For years this has happened: same girl, same game. It's pathetic.

I wrote this way back in 2003:

You visit me more in my dreams than you do in real life, and I pick up the phone to hear your voice because I stumble into a small pocketed oasis of my unconsciousness, where everything is alright again, only to have illusions fade, oases disappear, phones turn into drool-soaked pillows. My eyes open and everything is back to the way it was. And the way it is.

...

I’m going to carry on like I have been, happy ecstatic joyful and loving of life, because my life right now is going well, and I love my job and I love my friends and not thinking about you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

Here we go again.

This wisdom-through-aging process is not working as intended. I might be defective.