Broken Record

I went through all the stuff in my house today, had a big spring clean. Wrong time of the year, at least in this area of the world, but I managed to find a whole lot of things that I can probably sell, which might make things a little more secure for me, financially, for a while. I should probably think about getting a job.

While I was cleaning, I came across somebody's iPod, plus a charging cord. I don't know who's it is- it's not mine, I've never owned one, but I plugged it into my laptop in order to charge it and it's doing that now.

It's Stella's. Nobody else I know would let Lady Gaga anywhere near their MP3 players. Adam used to ridicule her for it, and she used to hit him.

I miss the other H. I miss them a lot. Not a day goes by when I don't think of them, even though it's been getting near a year since their collective deaths. I miss holing up in Stella's hotel room watching british comedy shows and ridiculing politicians in the news and, just, everything. They were my friends.

Sometimes I think they'd be ashamed of me, Stella especially. I've lost my way. I've lost my kit and I haven't made any effort to replace it. I was somebody once. I was H. Healer, Helper. I tried to do good things and hoped for the best.

I'm nobody in particular now. Just another haunted guy. I remember when I thought I could be a hero, that I could help everyone. You can't help everyone, it's just not feasible. You'll fail.

I want to help, nonetheless.