I can't sleep, this is why. I want you to read this and feel the pain that just sort of hit me again.


Picture a majestic old mansion-like house, a hundred and twenty years old, solid oak standing tall and strong in a country field like the great trees from which it was built. Picture this magnificent house full of vitality, history and beauty. Now picture that same house fiercely scorched by fire, all the character and flaws and subtle nuances that made the house beautiful destroyed and lost forever in the flames. Picture it being rebuilt, salvaged in a heroic attempt at restoration that will never reclaim what once was. All that's left is a sterile shell, the empty framework of a defeated giant. It is still a house, but one without history, without heart, with no soul -- nothing left of the house that once spoke of age-old stories and secrets of previous inhabitants. Like a ferocious lion that was once king of the jungle, but is now in captivity, spirit broken, tied to a wooden stake with a weak and frail rope he could easily break free of if he only still possessed the will. He doesn't. He's broken, with no fight left, gone and lost forever like the memories of the old house.

This is what happened to my cd collection. JK stole a piece of my soul I will never get back. I guess I have to give her credit for at least paying enough attention to me to know what would hurt the absolute most. Five years ago is a long time to be bringing up old wounds, but this one runs deep.