Hopita (hopita) wrote,

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(partially) lifted from yet another email

I'm not especially freaking out anymore, and yet I keep noticing that I'm thinking about him all the time. Little things, like standing in the shower and remembering that he liked it scalding hot (which I could never understand) while I'm more of a tepid woman myself (which he thought was strange). Or the fact that winter after winter, I sleep in his big grey Nike sweatshirt. I think about the way he freaked me out the last time he called me after shooting up cocaine*. I think about some of the things that he told me that I was never allowed to tell anyone else, and the casual way that I let Dan know that I knew about it. I think about how much he wanted to have kids, but also about how much it skeeved me out that he expressly intended to get stoned with them; to get them started on weed, as a matter of fact.

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.
Tags: bob hemelrick, cocaine

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