I can't say no

Back in April, I posted about my loyalty to brands and how even in the face of guaranteed disappointment, I eagerly take a big gulp of that bitter broth. You see, I'm in the camp that once you love something you can't unlove it. My heart is like that big wet green brick you find at the florist: once I make room for something in it, it's permanent. No, really, that's my heart. It's not the big colorful arrangement of sexual organs you see on the outside, it's the soft squishy center on the inside. But dammit, I'm sick of those perfectly manicured, shiver-inducing fingers poking remorselessly at random just to see how I dent.

Those times are over. I will not be seduced by those perfect brands I used to love. I have to move on, there are more fish in the sea. It starts today! Which is good, because it happens to be the launch day for Michael Crichton's next book, aptly called "Next". In April, I said:

"I still read every Michael Crichton book that comes out hoping for a glimpse of old times."

I'm done with you Crichton. Sure, your last four books may have knocked on my door (separated by just enough time for the hurt to have faded) and maybe I was weak when I let em in. Yeah, I took them to bed and stayed up all night indulging in what I promised I would never do again. But each morning I was left with nothing more than a sense of being used... being dented.

That's over now. Don't try to call or text me. It's over ok? Bye.