So apparently I should've been hospitalized.
Good ol' fevers.
But there are benefits to bein' sick.

Cousin gave birth an' I'm a proud uncle again.
Because I was sick, I didn't want to visit an' put the baby at risk w/ my germs.
Not quite the best gift to give anyone.
Turns out her nurse was my last ex.

So it was possible that I would've had to deal w/ both of my exes in two weeks.
At this rate, I'll run into half the ladies I dated while I'm downtown next weekend.

Expect a return to normalcy here after I'm done getting healthy an' finishing up my current batch of side projects.

An apology to peeps expecting the standard fun post aimed at generating laughter.
An apology to the increased reader interest gained over the past few months.
This post is nothing more then a vent and/or glance into the deeper workings of my mind.
Feel free to skip this particular post if you'd like.

Reggie, Reginald, Reggie Ra, the owner of the penis I'd like inside my vagina.
Call me what you will.
Generally, you all know me as the happy-go-lucky, optimistic person you can turn to for guaranteed good vibes.
But I should be allowed to deal w/ my own demons on my own terms.
I should be allowed to have my darker moments.
When my personal stresses have gotten to the point where I find myself overloaded.
I just find myself severely annoyed when that is made obvious to everyone in a public setting.
When I find myself unable to hide all my stress an' frustrations behind a coffee-stained smile.
Where I even find myself noting previously mentioned coffee-stained smile an' wanting to do something about it.

In short: I am burnt out an' stressed.
Exhausted an' tired of working to be considered broke.

Basically, FUCK YOU.
Fuck you for being a talented stalker.
Fuck you for calling me.
Fuck you for reminding me that I actually am unhappy w/ my life at the moment.
Fuck... FUCK you for cloudless skies.
Fuck you for cloudy skies.
Fuck you for the sky being blue.
Fuck you for Sonics commercials even though I can't find one in San Diego County.
For that matter, fuck you for Ruby Tuesdays commercials still played in our market also.
Fuck you for Jack getting hit by a bus during the Superbowl.
Fuck you for the Ogis at the North County Fair closing down without even telling their employees.
Fuck you for our recession.
But most importantly, fuck you for being the catalyst for putting myself into this current state of anger/depression.

I am sorry.
Maybe "No" is too complicated a word for you.
At least applied to this question: Should we get back together?
Apparently "Hellz No!!!" doesn't work for you either.
The fact that you're one of the main reasons I've consistently had to change my number over the past 3 yrs.
"No" for some reason just doesn't work.
Hopefully you can take this following statement to heart...

I wouldn't fuck you using Old Man Bobby V's penis triple-wrapped in condoms.
I found myself worried that I would catch an STD just by seeing your number as one of my missed calls.
Granted, I do hate myself for making my number semi-public knowledge.
I do count myself blessed that I didn't make my current address public knowledge also.
I'd probably wake up finding you staring at me through my window.
Which is only fun until you realize that my room is on the 2nd floor at the moment.

Sweet heavenly biscuit's bastard step-child!!!
I would rather have a vertically-challenged person tie my scrotum up w/ a rubber band and flick my hanging balls during the duration of a reading of War & Peace.
The director's cut.
Because I care 'bout you that much.

Three and a half years was the entire course of our relationship.
Three years you spent cheating on me.
I'm glad you realized you messed up.
I'm happy that you understand that I'm a decent man.
I just want nothing to do with you.
I tried reconciliation.
Forgiveness.
Floating on.
All that good stuff.

But did you really have to help me remember how unhappy I actually am?
I've already dealt w/ my quarter-life crisis.
Already come to terms w/ how I'm not even close to where I planned to be at this point of my life.
10yr. high school reunion over the horizon, what do I have to show?
What I thought would be a career job for me, taken away from me for bullshit reasons.
College-educated, yet working odd-jobs.
Forced to move back in w/ his parents since August of '08, constantly reminded that he's a failure by family standards.

I should've been happily married w/ two or three kids at this point w/ a dog named Dude.
I should've been a successful actor/producer/musician/singer/chef and/or business owner at this point of my life.
Hell... even Reggie, messenger to the God(s) at this point would've been an improvement.
But no, I'm Reggie.
Content w/ his life an' able to just deal w/ what whatever gets thrown at him.
Happy that it hasn't gotten more worse then it already is.
Happy that he wakes up an' his third leg functions properly.
That he can breathe on his own.
That he doesn't have to wear diapers again.
Able to deal w/ the fact that he could do nothing to help save his parent's home from foreclosure.
A house he spent the majority of his lifetime living in.

Fuck you for momentarily making me forget all of that.
Fuck you for remembering that I'm keen on word choice.
Fuck you for a drunken voicemail left at 11:12pm PST.
Fuck you for these words: I know your life sucks at the moment, but know that I'm here for you whenever you're ready.

Let me put this into writing again.
Please, leave me alone.
I want nothing to do with you.

A day that involved the SDSU Aztecs an' the Lakers winning their bball games respectively.
A day filled w/ good food an' friends.
A day filled w/ laundry an' warm, great smelling clothes.
Why did it have to end on such a bitter note?
Fuck YOU for being the first love of my life.
For taking advantage of that fact.
And for being able to still affect me so strongly.

Please, just leave me alone.