Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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Getting Ready For My Long Vacation and Work-Away-From-Home Time...

Barely awake and carrying my high-end brand new and shiny MT bike on my shoulders, I open the door to my apartment. I look around. They took all of my other four bikes. The comforting smell of tires is gone. The jungle of plants I had going on, was taken too.

Some days ago, I was going down a hill on my cheap bike at full speed when a car appeared from no-where. With full force, I squeeze the brakes only to have the brake cables snap. With infinite skill, I swerved into grass bank, and cursed under my breadth that this is the last time I spend just 100 bucks on a bike.

Some days ago, too lazy to change the channel, I non-watched the news, when a map of Stan�s neighborhood flashed before my eyes. �A biker was hit by a car and taken in critical condition to a nearby hospital.� I panicked, Stan loves his bikes, I called and he just laughed denying it was him. Relieved, I continued not watching the news.

I set the bike against the wall, and wait for one of my pets to come around. None do. They were taken away too. I ran up to my bedroom to say hi to my rat, she�s gone too. With the cage and plants gone, my room looks too empty, too sad. I go up to the window and look at the parking lot. My car is gone as well.

Couple days ago, I went up to the local bike shop owned by my friends, and left with the best mountain bike they could offer me. I test rode it around the block, I tested the shocks, the tires, the works. I chatted with my friends. I paid. They patted me on the back. The deal was sealed. As a pro mountain biker and a mountain man, Stan approved of my bike. He said I should return it and get it with a bigger frame, so he could steal it.

I sit in my lifeless apartment, and to kill the silence, I blast some European techno. It resonates against the walls.

Before Stan left for his camping mountain trip, he told me about berry stuffed squirrels. He hugged me and said I will be fine. He held me and repeated: �You will be fine, you will be glad I am gone, it will be all right.� I was fine, but I think he wanted to convince himself more than me.

Couple days ago, I go with one of my parentals to the car shop. The hot mechanic flirts with me and calls my car a beauty. I agree and flirt back. Then my parental says we�d make a cute couple, but said this right after throwing a bitchfest fit that lasted for over an hour. I left understanding that my date with the hot mechanic will NOT happen, and that I will no longer be welcome as a costumer at their shop.

I sit in my apartment enjoying the smell of the new tires, and I realize, that I miss Stan slightly less than my pets, my plants, my old bikes, and my car. Mostly my pets. But deep down inside, I hope he doesn�t get tackled by bears.

1:14 a.m. - September 23, 2010

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