Birth control.

I feel the need to point this out: Birth control makes your vagina smell and taste HORRIBLE. Seriously. I am not putting my mouth anywhere near it if she's on birth control. It's bad enough that my fingers are going to smell disgusting all day; even if I wash them with anything less than an alcohol based hand sanitizer. That is why I am against birth control and will gladly wear a condom. That is all.

Twins

Dated Thursday, April Fifteen.

I woke up this morning with only one sock. Wait; it gets worse. Waking up was the best thing that happened to me last night. My ex-girlfriend called me last night to tell me she had an abortion earlier that day. This isn't the first time this has happened to me. Last year a previous girlfriend claimed to have gotten an abortion and was using the story as ammo in her psychological campaign of emotional abuse against me. I am almost thankful for being put through this once before because I think I was able to handle it better this time. Although I still don't know how much I helped; and I probably never will.

I woke up this morning with only one sock. Last night I dreamt it was at least a year later and the abortion never happened. I am the father of two babies, not old enough to think, and my ex-girlfriend and I are living together but not as partners. There is a lot of tension; more than any dream I can remember. I have a very submissive role in the whole situation; there's no Love, I work twelve hour days in some type of manual labor job, I drink a lot–big surprise there–and generally seem to hate life. I Love the children though; I know that. 

We have skipped now, a few years into the future and it has become very obvious that these are not my children. They have dark skin and brown eyes. I rage. The woman I Loved cheated on me and I Malkovich hardcore; I verbally assault her until my throat is bleeding. I rage. I know what I have to do now and I do it. I get my gun and I take the kids outside; she tries to stop me and I point the gun at her, I explain that she is going to turn around and walk back into the kitchen. I am outside with two children that I had Loved as my own. I put the gun to their heads and one by one end the lives of her two illegitimate children. I walk back inside and my wife is on her knees crying; she is also black, and I have just killed our children. I fall to my knees as the realization washes over me. I turn the gun on her and fire. Standing over her lifeless body I am staring at the woman I Love. The woman whose children I fathered. The mother of my children! I am distraught. Her green eyes are still open and pleading with me to stop. I drop the gun, causing it to go off as it hits the ground and I am shot in the foot. (End dream.)

I cannot stop thinking about her. I don't know how she thinks about me. I want her back in my life. I want her to be my girlfriend. I don't know what I would have done if she had included me in the situation; she did not want me to be a part of it. Would I have tried to stop her? I have always been "pro-choice", but it's always different when it happens to you. I Love her and she is my ex... but that's the curse I carry I know... I still Love her.

It would have been twins.

Dancing With the Stars.

My dream is to be on Dancing With the Stars. Even though I have never seen that show... I wonder who I'd be paired with?

Why can't you kill a vampire with a gun?

Serious question. Really. Why can't you? If a wooden stake through the heart can fell a vampire, what difference would it make if the stake were bullet shaped and metal? Have to wonder sometimes...

Shallow Graves

Everyone knows that should be me standing next to her. She never forgave me for joining the service, that's not why I got the wedding invitation though; her mother always liked my family and still used this old address. I am the only one left of course and that is why I got this wedding invitation.  

Misses Jason Flaniggan. Such a waste of her beautiful name... He was so fucking proud of his Irish heritage, stupid ginger, at least a third of his clothes were always green, except in the invitation photograph, A handsome black suit, but he still had a green tie. He was always the first to let you know he was Irish, as if you couldn't tell by looking at him, or his thirty-five siblings, then there was the accent he claimed came from his visits back to Ireland...  

Jason Partridge Flaniggan was a Canadian. That is why I hated him; not because he stole my girl, or my life, or that he was just a regular asshole; no, Because he would never tell you he was born in Canada to a regular Christian family and only became Irish-Catholic after his father remarried since his mother died from having too many kids! Mr. Flaniggan's second wife was a devout Irish-Catholic, that's why the family is so fucked up. Four years ago I received a letter from Mrs. Kubric, the mother of my ex-fiance. The Kubric family loved my family, Mrs. Kubric was a good friend of my mother, and knew most of the Van Ericsson's very well. Although in the years just before and during my time in the service the two families grew apart; and it didn't help that while I was away, my family was busy dying or in the hospital waiting for my return so they could die. And a majority of the deaths were the type that could be considered, under the right circumstances, murder.  

Everyone knows that should be me standing next to her, but everyone thinks I died in Germany. I was stationed in Germany thanks to my familiarity with the language; I'm very good with most Slavic and Germanic languages. My fiance at the time, Ms. Kubric, was very disappointed in my choice to join the service, but at the time I had no job, little education, and nothing saved that would help us start a family. She never forgave me for leaving her, although I always promised her I would be back. I thought she trusted me. It was halfway through my fourth year of deployment when the wreck happened, I was riding back from an evening downtown with some buddies, our driver had one too many to drink and the vehicle ended three of our lives at the scene. By the time the paramedics got to us I was the only one they could resuscitate. Afterward I spent eight months in a coma and the military just forgot about me. 

My official record states that I was killed in an accident. I spent a few months in eastern Europe recovering before I made it back into the states, and when I finally found my girl it was too late. She didn't want anything to do with me, even after all she knew or didn't know about what I had been through, she was through. A few months later I got the wedding invitation; everyone knows that should be me standing next to her, but everyone also knows I died in Germany. I did not go to the wedding, but I keep this invitation in my wallet as a reminder of the American Dream.

Day one

My name is August.
Hi... This is my blog. That's such an ugly word; "blog"; I don't much like it. Maybe we should start over...

I'm August, and this is my journal? No... too... what's the word... never mind, let's just move on. This is my outlet right now, it's going to have to be at least... I need to put some structure back into my writing life. I'm hoping this blog will help. Hope... That word I hate the most. More on that later I suppose... In any case, my name is August and these are my writings...