He always stole stuff. We had such a fight the night he stole my hairbrush**. But then I got the hang of it. Now I still have a bunch of stuff lying around that I stole from him (like the blanket in the trunk of my car, or that weird fur ball ponytail holder thing).
The memorial party is tonight. I plan to make like 100 copies of the email that I got from Bike Pittsburgh and hand them out ... try and get other friends of his involved in doing some sort of action. I feel so disconnected from them. But that was my choice.
I had the choice of Bob & drugs or no Bob & no drugs. I chose the latter, and I guess now I'm living with the consequences of that choice.
This is one fucked up entry. I may fix it later on.
* This was last summer. The worst moment that I remember from that particular call is when he asked me to start timing, but forgot to tell me to stop at 15 seconds. He was counting his pulse. He did that a lot. It was like he wanted to see the exact second that his heart would explode.
** Also cocaine-related, though this time, on my part. Survey says: paranoid lunatic.