Watch out below

Every once in a while I just feel so numb that I can hardly type. Now is one of those times. It's not even an abyss any longer, more like a black hole, sucking everything from me. I want to scream, "Why did you have to die?" Being alone in the house at the end of each workday, loneliness creeps in, grabs hold like a bulldog, and shakes me until I'm a bloody pulp. Dramatic enough for you? I can get carried away. Sorry. I close my eyes sometimes and just let my fingers do the walking over the keyboard and then I read it afterwards. I generally edit most of the shit out, but then again, maybe I'll just leave this as it is. What the hell, it is my blog and it's pretty much how I'm feeling at the moment. I know it's the approaching six month anniversary of his death, trying to sneak up on me—as if that's even possible. Insert snort here. It's affecting me. I don't need reminders; I feel his absence every day. I get jealous when I hear Lisa Duncan tell me that Dennis has been in her dreams but I never remember my dreams, so I couldn't say whether or not he's been in mine. Hell, I can't even tell you with any certainty that I dream; I'm only assuming I do since that's what the "experts" say—we all dream. This is really turning into a rambling mess, isn't it? I think I'll fall back on the old adage: if you don't have anything good to say about it, then don't say anything. Or something along those lines. Therefore, I think I'll try this again sometime when I really have something to say.