11:46pm to 11:57pm.
The only time it hurts enough to keep me awake is when it rains at night in the fall, when I hear that one Gothic Rock song and when I realize how blind I was to have thought it could work.
Am I over it? Yeah. Definitely. It's sort of like this.
You know when you see a Ben Stiller movie, or read through the joke section in a kid's magazine and something just tickles you? You laugh. And then you get over it.
And then, eight months later, you're walking down the street in a different town, drinking coffee from a different cafe, listening to music that didn't even exist eight months prior, and for no particular reason, that punchline comes back to you.
You don't really laugh... you just sort of smile inside.
It's just like that. A bubble inside my memory that inflates and then pops, hardly noticeably, but leaves a residue until I have time to rinse my soul out.
At that point, you just remind yourself that you've seen better movies, that Ben Stiller isn't that funny anyway, and you forget about it. For another eight months, at least.
So, I'm over it. Eight months at a time.
