i won't. i? won't. i? won't. i? won't. i? won't. i? won't.

after the ultimate stress of the Ulcer-Inducing Project on monday, i needed a smoke. badly. and just like that, a month of cigarette-free disappears. Tristen was my generous benefactor in this cave-in. i love tristen. i've never met anybody so relaxed, and who doesn't think they are above anybody. everybody says they don't think they are better than anyone, that they are nice and friendly and will talk to anybody - even if they don't say it, they think it, i do it too - but tristen is the ONLY person i have met who will actually follow through. the sort of person who after only one time meeting them you feel like you could talk to about anything.
and he is not stingy with his smokes. that is a blessed rarity.

Neanderthal helped me out with that too yesterday. baaaarf. don't know what to do there. halloween is also giving me grief. let's not forget last halloween - how could i? do i forget anything with big? no. my brain refuses to forget these things. tanya told me "people remember birthdays and anniversaries, but they don't remember every day of the year with their ex." then she bought me a blizzard. thank God for tanya.
anyways. i'm not likely to forget standing beside big at bright eyes, holding my cassadaga record to my chest and beginning to cry when he began playing the first day of my life, a song that big used to sing to me. and big just standing there, a foot away from me, mute. why would you ever go to a concert with your ex, using tickets you had bought as an anniversary present for each other? why? i'm not likely to forget the asian girl next to me, punching big on the arm and telling him i was crying. and him stepping to stand further away from me. i'm not likely to forget running out of mac hall, past josh and matt with confused looks on their faces. i'm not likely to forget sitting on the steps for the rest of the concert, plugging my ears and wishing it was over. seeing big in my mind, standing that way he did with his stupid hands in his stupid pockets and that silent, angry look on his face. i ruined bright eyes for both of us, his face said. fuck bright eyes. fuck conor oberst. fuck big's favorite band. fuck the first day of my life, fuck at the bottom of everything, fuck bowl of oranges. fuck that i can still hear big's voice in my head and the way he used to sing those to me.

i won't listen to bright eyes anymore.