my subconsious hates me

i woke up as down as down can be. ugh. sigh.
i thought all that was done and dealt with. what the fuck is it still doing in there?
guess who's going for a drink later?
me, silly.
honestly, i'm getting more than a little fed up with the randomly reoccuring badbads that tear scabs off old wounds like that.
i'm fully aware that i'm damaged goods. fine. it's normal and part of the whole thang of bein' me, but this one thing i'd really like to make peace with at last.
i always imagined a 'romantic' being someone who's constantly spouting soliliquies inspired by dripping taps and the glory of a water droplet tracing its way down a pane of glass, and all that stuff...
i recently became aware of another definition of the word, where it's more about being a boston red sox fan, or in my case, showing up to world cup soccer matches every four years with an italian flag, gazing hopefully up at the screen.
GO AWAY, YOU FUCKING little demon.
i swear, soon i'm gonna start really hearing voices...