Stress is no stranger in my life. I do homeschool a very, uh, active child on a very small budget. We all have stress though. Usually I can happily feed my stress pizza and put it to sleep. Really, my stress loves pizza. I can placate whatever crap is being thrown my way with cheesy goodness and go back to, hmmm ... doing nothing.
Today though, I have an unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach. It's a feeling of impending doom, like the world is about to implode. OK, maybe not the whole world, but my world. I don't usually get this feeling, and I don't remember ever getting it wrong, so it's rather worrisome. Ironic how unexplainable anxiety creates more anxiety, no?
Maybe it's just some sort of gastrointestinal distress taking it's sweet time manifesting fully. Awesome. It's very early in the day for me and I've already decided the world's going to implode or my ass is going to explode. I guess it's nice to have options and expectations for the day.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Dear Gumby,
I can't believe it's been 11 years since you've been gone. Sometimes it feels like it's been that long since I've had fun. I know it hasn't, but it's sporadic now, and different. I can't go back to our bar without a stab of pain because you're not there. In fact, dear Donna sold the place last year. After the initial feeling of, "Oh man, all the fucking times Gumby and Spar tried to buy it and got turned down are really annoying now," my second reaction was horror over the idea that the new owners might take down your little memorial on the wall, and that the monthly calendar would never again note your birth and death days. No one there now knows you died in the bar you loved. Ouch. That hurts the most. To them, you'll be nothing but a cranky ghost screeching in a Krusty the Clown voice for your "pint of Dewars, no ice!!" That is, if they even hear you at all. I hope your haunting has taken on a feverish pitch, rather than slowing down.
My pain over missing you has slowed down. I don't even usually feel guilty about that. You don't mind, right? No, I didn't think so. Despite all the crap you gave me, and everyone else, I know you cared about me. Chris even said you were in love with me. I think he was just stinging after I rejected his offer to take me to your funeral. He had never offered to be there for me like that before, but it was already too late, and the idea of how pissed you would've been to see him there drove that home like nothing else could have. I'm sure you're glad I told him that. His response was that he was surprised to know that you didn't like him. When I pointed out that you knew most of the things that he had done during our relationship, he said, "Ahhh, it all makes sense now. I saw the way he looked at you when you weren't looking, but now I know he was in love with you." It has never occurred to me before now that he wasn't being honest. I guess it doesn't matter either way though, does it? I liked the idea of you knowing I'd turned him down because you disliked the way he treated me. I wish I'd done it while you were alive.
Anyway, I'm freezing and rambling and losing my train of thought, sure signs of sobriety. I hope you're drinking with impunity and enjoying the show.
My pain over missing you has slowed down. I don't even usually feel guilty about that. You don't mind, right? No, I didn't think so. Despite all the crap you gave me, and everyone else, I know you cared about me. Chris even said you were in love with me. I think he was just stinging after I rejected his offer to take me to your funeral. He had never offered to be there for me like that before, but it was already too late, and the idea of how pissed you would've been to see him there drove that home like nothing else could have. I'm sure you're glad I told him that. His response was that he was surprised to know that you didn't like him. When I pointed out that you knew most of the things that he had done during our relationship, he said, "Ahhh, it all makes sense now. I saw the way he looked at you when you weren't looking, but now I know he was in love with you." It has never occurred to me before now that he wasn't being honest. I guess it doesn't matter either way though, does it? I liked the idea of you knowing I'd turned him down because you disliked the way he treated me. I wish I'd done it while you were alive.
Anyway, I'm freezing and rambling and losing my train of thought, sure signs of sobriety. I hope you're drinking with impunity and enjoying the show.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
perv
Linking up for Trifextraagain. Warning:: All I saw in the picture was raunch, pure and simple. I swear it's the missing pants. I've toned it down as much as I possibly could, but really, I spent too much time in fraternity houses and bars, so if you're easily offended or grossed out by inappropriate sexuality, just skip it. :)
Well, I don't really care how exactly you uh, ... fit. Please don't ever call me in here again unless you are wearing pants or I'm moving. The rent's not cheap enough for that.
Well, I don't really care how exactly you uh, ... fit. Please don't ever call me in here again unless you are wearing pants or I'm moving. The rent's not cheap enough for that.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Boiled Down
I could spend a lifetime retelling my lifetime. Many words could be used to utter meaning into grievances, passions and actions. I could simplify and save time by merely muttering the word "fool".
Trifectagain. Word of the week is "fool".
Trifectagain. Word of the week is "fool".
Saturday, February 18, 2012
running
Last week I decided we didn't really need groceries and that the handy little feature my car insurance offers for deferring payment a few days would come in handy. In lieu of these items, I got a treadmill. (On a side note, I really need to cancel my gym membership. I haven't been there in a full year, I'm not quite sure how long of a contract I signed ... ) Ostensibly, the dogs would also benefit from this purchase.
Since accidentally owning a dingo, we have been trying to train her to properly use a leash, to no avail. She's just too damn fast (up to 30mph) and our pedestrian speeds simply annoy her. Despite possessing webbed feet, she is afraid of water, so swimming to get some energy out never worked either. Her natural state of affairs is ramped up and nervous. After watching a few too many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, a lightbulb lit. Oooh, the dingo could use a treadmill. Right.
So far, this idea has failed miserably. Just like with the swimming idea, our yappy ball of fur who could care less about expending energy on anything useful is much more interested. The dingo cowers, the yappy dog yaps and bats at the treadmill. Fun stuff. I doubt Cesar's crew would fit in my garage, otherwise, I might try to get him to teach the wacko. Maybe one of these days? Yeah, I know. I doubt it too.
I have used the grocery replacement regularly though. After convincing my son that screaming, "Run Fat Ass, Run!!!" while watching me was not good for his health, it has been much more pleasant for me. In fact, I have shaved nearly four minutes off my mile time this week. The bad news is that I'd have to shave another ten or so to make it an even slightly respectable time. :) Considering I have never run on a treadmill before, I'm OK with that. I've walked on them often. Forty plus minutes four days a week with my own personal trainer the summer- winter a year ago. I just refused to actually let go of the machine, so it never counted as running. Walking at 7mph caused me great pain, and is probably how I injured my knee, ending my training. *shrugs*
At first I listened to Alice in Chains, which was a Bad Idea. Nothing like suicidal thoughts and drug lust to get you motivated to move. :S The next day I switched to Rage Against the Machine. That was better. Rage gets me moving, always. (They also take the blame for my multiple speeding tickets one year when I played nothing but "Evil Empire" in my car.) After a few days, I started to think too much. I was pushing myself to run another 15 seconds while being motivated by political wrongdoings and General world evil? Could I really use oppression as a reason to make my ass stop jiggling? It just seemed kind of wrong.
Then I switched to 50 Cent. Now, I can imagine myself as a chunked up Fiddy trying to outrun the guys in his neighborhood who want to kick his ass for being such a cocky twat. This seems to work well for me. I mean, who can't picture a little extra jiggle in 50's ass? I suspect next I will have to become DMX, cracked out and running from the cops. There's nowhere to go but up from there.
Since accidentally owning a dingo, we have been trying to train her to properly use a leash, to no avail. She's just too damn fast (up to 30mph) and our pedestrian speeds simply annoy her. Despite possessing webbed feet, she is afraid of water, so swimming to get some energy out never worked either. Her natural state of affairs is ramped up and nervous. After watching a few too many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, a lightbulb lit. Oooh, the dingo could use a treadmill. Right.
So far, this idea has failed miserably. Just like with the swimming idea, our yappy ball of fur who could care less about expending energy on anything useful is much more interested. The dingo cowers, the yappy dog yaps and bats at the treadmill. Fun stuff. I doubt Cesar's crew would fit in my garage, otherwise, I might try to get him to teach the wacko. Maybe one of these days? Yeah, I know. I doubt it too.
I have used the grocery replacement regularly though. After convincing my son that screaming, "Run Fat Ass, Run!!!" while watching me was not good for his health, it has been much more pleasant for me. In fact, I have shaved nearly four minutes off my mile time this week. The bad news is that I'd have to shave another ten or so to make it an even slightly respectable time. :) Considering I have never run on a treadmill before, I'm OK with that. I've walked on them often. Forty plus minutes four days a week with my own personal trainer the summer- winter a year ago. I just refused to actually let go of the machine, so it never counted as running. Walking at 7mph caused me great pain, and is probably how I injured my knee, ending my training. *shrugs*
At first I listened to Alice in Chains, which was a Bad Idea. Nothing like suicidal thoughts and drug lust to get you motivated to move. :S The next day I switched to Rage Against the Machine. That was better. Rage gets me moving, always. (They also take the blame for my multiple speeding tickets one year when I played nothing but "Evil Empire" in my car.) After a few days, I started to think too much. I was pushing myself to run another 15 seconds while being motivated by political wrongdoings and General world evil? Could I really use oppression as a reason to make my ass stop jiggling? It just seemed kind of wrong.
Then I switched to 50 Cent. Now, I can imagine myself as a chunked up Fiddy trying to outrun the guys in his neighborhood who want to kick his ass for being such a cocky twat. This seems to work well for me. I mean, who can't picture a little extra jiggle in 50's ass? I suspect next I will have to become DMX, cracked out and running from the cops. There's nowhere to go but up from there.
twi-lite
Girl moves to land of fog and rain, hates life, meets sparkly killer, falls in love, gets stalked and carried everywhere. Sparkly killer's family hates whiny, clumsy girl with strong aroma. They suck.
Here's another for Trifextra. The whole series blended together in my head, (Yes, yes I did just admit I read them all.) but I'm pretty sure this sticks to simply the first book.
Here's another for Trifextra. The whole series blended together in my head, (Yes, yes I did just admit I read them all.) but I'm pretty sure this sticks to simply the first book.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
jar of flies
Trifecta's word this time is "safe", and I kinda cheated (yet again), but, eh.
We spent most of our time together at my (parents') house. The few instances we spent time at his house stand out vividly in my mind, even though nothing special happened. I think his father's everyday things, still occupying their home and spilling out of their medicine cabinet three years after his passing, alarmed me enough to pay attention.
Usually we went there so I could use his computer. He'd put on music, I'd complain about it, and he'd launch into some dissertation that I barely heard, let alone comprehended. He had taught himself six instruments by ear. I am tone deaf. You'd think the "winner" in these arguments would be clear, but when the basis of one person's argument is, "This shit is getting on my fucking nerves Turn It Off!!" things can get a little murky. At least that's the way it happened in his basement, anyway.
One band that could always get me to shut up was Alice in Chains. I remember when he bought the "Jar of Flies" EP. One of my favorite songs opened with the words, "I want to travel south this year. I ... Oh I won't prevent safe passage here" The EP was released in January, I always want to flee to warmer climates during winter, so it worked for me, actual meaning of the song be damned. Simpleminded as I can be, I loved the plastic flies encased in the edge of the CD case. I'd tilt it this way and that, watching the fake flies jumbling together, stuck, but with just enough room to allow them to crash into each other. Those flies were greatly symbolic of how I felt about my life at the time, but I'm not going to pretend I was cognizant enough to realize that then. I preferred the simple idea of listening to stuff that didn't suck while playing with a toy.
We spent most of our time together at my (parents') house. The few instances we spent time at his house stand out vividly in my mind, even though nothing special happened. I think his father's everyday things, still occupying their home and spilling out of their medicine cabinet three years after his passing, alarmed me enough to pay attention.
Usually we went there so I could use his computer. He'd put on music, I'd complain about it, and he'd launch into some dissertation that I barely heard, let alone comprehended. He had taught himself six instruments by ear. I am tone deaf. You'd think the "winner" in these arguments would be clear, but when the basis of one person's argument is, "This shit is getting on my fucking nerves Turn It Off!!" things can get a little murky. At least that's the way it happened in his basement, anyway.
One band that could always get me to shut up was Alice in Chains. I remember when he bought the "Jar of Flies" EP. One of my favorite songs opened with the words, "I want to travel south this year. I ... Oh I won't prevent safe passage here" The EP was released in January, I always want to flee to warmer climates during winter, so it worked for me, actual meaning of the song be damned. Simpleminded as I can be, I loved the plastic flies encased in the edge of the CD case. I'd tilt it this way and that, watching the fake flies jumbling together, stuck, but with just enough room to allow them to crash into each other. Those flies were greatly symbolic of how I felt about my life at the time, but I'm not going to pretend I was cognizant enough to realize that then. I preferred the simple idea of listening to stuff that didn't suck while playing with a toy.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
bedroom door
I remember you from then. How could I not? You moved me in a way I could never describe, nor forget. Something deep inside stirred when I looked at you. When I touched you, I forgot the world.
I remember watching you, just completely mesmerized by your music. Watching your fingers, they way they moved over your guitar strings. The shy smile that couldn't hide the eagerness behind your eyes.
When our skin met, I was transported to another world, a world where nothing but us existed. I remember slamming up against a wall next to your kitchen, the force of our appetites burning through my skin.
I wanted to move to the bedroom. The door was partially open, it was calling me, inviting me in. I wanted nothing more than to remove all of our clothes and get lost in that room for days. I would've given up anything at that moment, just to have you inside me. Just to see how that animal magnetism I felt through your mouth and fingertips could consume my whole body.
The bedroom door was next to the main door. Instead of moving towards the bedroom, I found myself being moved into the hallway. I wanted nothing more than to stay holed up behind that other door. Instead I found myself outside your apartment, blindly fumbling my way to my car, never to return to you there.
I wonder if I'll ever know what happens behind your almost opened door.
***************
This week's Trifextra was a love scene, minus 33 commonly used words. I admit, I kinda cheated, as a whiny kid is not conducive to writing love scenes, and used an old piece I had written, replacing a few words.
I remember watching you, just completely mesmerized by your music. Watching your fingers, they way they moved over your guitar strings. The shy smile that couldn't hide the eagerness behind your eyes.
When our skin met, I was transported to another world, a world where nothing but us existed. I remember slamming up against a wall next to your kitchen, the force of our appetites burning through my skin.
I wanted to move to the bedroom. The door was partially open, it was calling me, inviting me in. I wanted nothing more than to remove all of our clothes and get lost in that room for days. I would've given up anything at that moment, just to have you inside me. Just to see how that animal magnetism I felt through your mouth and fingertips could consume my whole body.
The bedroom door was next to the main door. Instead of moving towards the bedroom, I found myself being moved into the hallway. I wanted nothing more than to stay holed up behind that other door. Instead I found myself outside your apartment, blindly fumbling my way to my car, never to return to you there.
I wonder if I'll ever know what happens behind your almost opened door.
***************
This week's Trifextra was a love scene, minus 33 commonly used words. I admit, I kinda cheated, as a whiny kid is not conducive to writing love scenes, and used an old piece I had written, replacing a few words.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
jack handey
He used to quote "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" on a regular basis, each time trying to improve upon his deadpan. (“If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.” ) His eyes always betrayed his amusement, his theatrical gestures hinted at practice alone, in front of a mirror. Sometimes he couldn't make it all the way through a quote without grinning wildly, eyebrow raising slightly, watching for my reaction. More often than not, I'd furrow my drunken brow in confusion. He'd start to explain, only to be interrupted. "I get it. I just don't get why you think it's so damn amusing."
Sunday, February 05, 2012
Funny Bone
I hadn't written anything since the months after we first met when I started typing away nonsense to post to my.spa.ce. Then he became my friend, and I started writing to him, without saying a word. I didn't always tell him my heart, I liked to tell him fun drinking stories or how my ass was doing that day, you know, the usual. Every now and then I'd slip in a paragraph or two hoping he'd feel my longing. He didn't.
After a friend was offended by something I wrote, with no intention of being offensive, I started a new page. I had made a few blogging friends and invited them to the new profile. He was the only person who knew me in person I told about the new page. There, I wrote to him more. I spilled and spilled and spilled some more. I wasn't sure I had any guts left, the floor was so messy with them.
Then he asked to meet up again.
I was terrified. This man had read the contents of my heart, soul and bowels. It took 30 seconds to get over that fear. I kept spilling, he kept reading, and I kept wondering when I would decide he knew enough, and silence my fingers. I never really decided he knew enough. After things fell apart, sometimes I'd write something I didn't want him to see, and I'd post it here. (Shit, there goes my secret.) Those times were few and far between though.
In spilling it all for Patrick to know, I met quite a few people I still treasure and "talk" to now. Then I stopped writing for a little while. Then he was murdered and I wrote regularly again. Then I got tired of being all angsty and stopped. Then one of my favorite and most treasured blogger friends passed away, and I wrote again, but sporadically. Throughout all this, I somehow stuck my funny bone up my ass or something. Not sure how it happened, maybe I've told all the funny stories, maybe not. In any case, I hope to be digging that bone out of my ass again soon. It might take awhile to angle it the correct way in order to fully extricate the bitch, but I'll get there. I will find something funny to say again.
After a friend was offended by something I wrote, with no intention of being offensive, I started a new page. I had made a few blogging friends and invited them to the new profile. He was the only person who knew me in person I told about the new page. There, I wrote to him more. I spilled and spilled and spilled some more. I wasn't sure I had any guts left, the floor was so messy with them.
Then he asked to meet up again.
I was terrified. This man had read the contents of my heart, soul and bowels. It took 30 seconds to get over that fear. I kept spilling, he kept reading, and I kept wondering when I would decide he knew enough, and silence my fingers. I never really decided he knew enough. After things fell apart, sometimes I'd write something I didn't want him to see, and I'd post it here. (Shit, there goes my secret.) Those times were few and far between though.
In spilling it all for Patrick to know, I met quite a few people I still treasure and "talk" to now. Then I stopped writing for a little while. Then he was murdered and I wrote regularly again. Then I got tired of being all angsty and stopped. Then one of my favorite and most treasured blogger friends passed away, and I wrote again, but sporadically. Throughout all this, I somehow stuck my funny bone up my ass or something. Not sure how it happened, maybe I've told all the funny stories, maybe not. In any case, I hope to be digging that bone out of my ass again soon. It might take awhile to angle it the correct way in order to fully extricate the bitch, but I'll get there. I will find something funny to say again.
Story in 3
She sank to the ground, and began running the mulch through her fingers, hoping to feel some barely tangible particle of his soul that might have gotten trapped there as it left his body. The door to the place he called home opened, revealing a slightly familiar pair of quizzical eyes still rimmed in raw pain, and noticing her for the first time. "I'm sorry, but I loved him too," was all she could offer as an explanation.
It's Trifecta time again! This week, the rule was to tell a story in 3 sentences. The variety of responses to these challenges amazes me.
It's Trifecta time again! This week, the rule was to tell a story in 3 sentences. The variety of responses to these challenges amazes me.
Friday, February 03, 2012
14
All I ate today was popcorn and jelly beans. What am I? 14 and basking in the glow of being left home alone for the day?? Oh wait, I had a Pepsi too. Apparently the thought of dissolved mice in my beverage wasn't as strong a deterrent as I had hoped it'd be. *shrugs*
My kid came up with some really wonderful quotes recently. I'll share.
He woke up at 6:30 one morning, sick to his stomach. I had fallen asleep a mere hour before this, so I SaaS hoping he'd moan and groan a bit, flush and go back to sleep. I should never hope for things. He moaned, and groaned and whined so much I got out of bed to see how he was doing. He sent me away, saying I didn't want to see his piles of poop making mountains above the water. You're probably right kid. He flushed, explaining that he wasn't finished yet, it was just too gross to keep around. Next, he proceeded to tell me he was shitting turds the size of eyeballs. Exactly what I wanted to hear. He was awake until 1:00AM the next morning, after being sent to bed at 8:00PM. At about midnight, he snuck to the kitchen and stole some pretzels to eat. I demanded them back. The response was classic. "I'll give you the pretzels back in a little bit -- when I SHIT THEM ON YOUR HEAD!!!" I kinda lost it and went on a tangent about how if I didn't beat him before he finally fell asleep I should get a fucking mother of the year award. Uh huh.
Another good quote was, "Is your name Farty McFarterson? If so, you have won an all expenses paid trip to Shitland, located in New York City." I wonder why none of the homeschool moms want to set up play dates with him?
He also came into my room, and instead of asking if I wanted him to shut the door on his way out, inquired wether I wanted "to repel some ass". *sigh* Um, at least he's creative?
My kid came up with some really wonderful quotes recently. I'll share.
He woke up at 6:30 one morning, sick to his stomach. I had fallen asleep a mere hour before this, so I SaaS hoping he'd moan and groan a bit, flush and go back to sleep. I should never hope for things. He moaned, and groaned and whined so much I got out of bed to see how he was doing. He sent me away, saying I didn't want to see his piles of poop making mountains above the water. You're probably right kid. He flushed, explaining that he wasn't finished yet, it was just too gross to keep around. Next, he proceeded to tell me he was shitting turds the size of eyeballs. Exactly what I wanted to hear. He was awake until 1:00AM the next morning, after being sent to bed at 8:00PM. At about midnight, he snuck to the kitchen and stole some pretzels to eat. I demanded them back. The response was classic. "I'll give you the pretzels back in a little bit -- when I SHIT THEM ON YOUR HEAD!!!" I kinda lost it and went on a tangent about how if I didn't beat him before he finally fell asleep I should get a fucking mother of the year award. Uh huh.
Another good quote was, "Is your name Farty McFarterson? If so, you have won an all expenses paid trip to Shitland, located in New York City." I wonder why none of the homeschool moms want to set up play dates with him?
He also came into my room, and instead of asking if I wanted him to shut the door on his way out, inquired wether I wanted "to repel some ass". *sigh* Um, at least he's creative?
Saturday, January 28, 2012
33words (times two)
I've written two 33 word stories for Trifecta's Triextra over here. The rules were simple: Write a love story in exactly 33 words. Of course, I can't abide by 100% rule compliance, so I wrote two.
1--- The first time they met, oceans swelled and crashed, car tires squealed, jets flew, and bugs crawled, but the only thing she would ever notice near him was his heart calling her home.
2 -- He joked that the faces she made upon meeting him would make a story to amuse their kids. Their babies never drew breath, and their explorations left the fertile grounds scorched and barren.
1--- The first time they met, oceans swelled and crashed, car tires squealed, jets flew, and bugs crawled, but the only thing she would ever notice near him was his heart calling her home.
2 -- He joked that the faces she made upon meeting him would make a story to amuse their kids. Their babies never drew breath, and their explorations left the fertile grounds scorched and barren.
Friday, January 27, 2012
January Sucks
I've been trying, and trying and trying some more to come up with something good, something wholly funny and just plain fun that ever happened to me in any January. I'm drawing a blank. I can think of many, many things that happened in Januarys, but they're not the things I'd like to remember while I'm hoping the days grow longer soon.
I met John in January. I've covered that already. He now falls into the bittersweet category anyway.
That's it. That's my whole list of things that don't suck that happened in January. A lot of the things I remember aren't horrible, but they're such reminders of ... Something I don't recall as fun at the moment. Some of the events make for the kind of stories that would make you shake your head, half in laughter, half in disgust and wonder what to make of the whole convoluted mess. I don't feel like being mired in the "holy shit" of it all.
I started a new college in January. There was a blizzard that January. I got lost on my way to class every single time I even bothered to try to attend class that January. Hmm, not fun. Well, it had it's slightly amusing moments. I mostly just remember it as gray now.
I got dumped in a bar for tickling my boyfriend's butt one too many times in front of his friends in January. That's kinda funny. The fact that my ex who made me feel guilty and like a horrible human being was there to witness it kinda lessens the fun. As does the part where I went home with some random stranger that night who ended up being hung like, like ... uh, I guess one of those dildos you see and do an involuntary giggle, wondering how that would feel good. Yeah, that part was kinda funny, kinda pathetic.
Too bad it led to me pissing blood for a week, the final straw coming when I saw only blood and screamed in pain, while visiting a friend who lived four hours away from me. My friend came to pick me up and take me to the hospital. We stopped to see my daughter's father, who had gotten out of the Air Force "for us, and our daughter". The first thing we saw when walking in the door of his mother's house was his infant son, who hadn't been mentioned in the fairy tale he spun.
Then the pain pills led to some very interesting nights that are pretty amusing in a microcosm. As a whole, and part of one week, and the end of that particular month? Yeah, banging the resident crackhead in the bar bathroom is even more pathetic than if it had been part of some random time frame.
There are some pretty crappy pregnancy stories involving Januarys. There's just nothing funny about any of them.
Let's see ... I had fun with Patrick in January. But not much, he pretty much pushed me out of his life in January. The funniest part of that night involved something terribly not funny in retrospect as well. Well, it's one of those things that's funny in a "holy shit" kinda way, again.
Um ...
My boyfriend found out he had cancer in January. I dumped him later in the month, partially because of how he and his family acted about that whole deal. Really, when I'm the most rational and ready to confront reality person in the room, there's a big fucking problem. Who pretends a cancerous tumor the size of a freaking baseball doesn't exist while it's being removed, then pretends it never existed as the doctor is explaining it to them, and then ignores the whole fucking thing as soon as the patient wakes up from the operation?? The guy had surgery that took place through his penis, and they had him taking his nephew to the aquarium less than two hours later. Hello?!? (He was actually perfectly fine by the time I dumped him, btw). Yeah, nothing funny there either.
Yeah, OK. Just fuck January. Unless I make something ridiculously wonderful happen in the next five days or so, I think I'm going to hibernate through next January. I bet I have some funny shit that happened in February though ...
I met John in January. I've covered that already. He now falls into the bittersweet category anyway.
That's it. That's my whole list of things that don't suck that happened in January. A lot of the things I remember aren't horrible, but they're such reminders of ... Something I don't recall as fun at the moment. Some of the events make for the kind of stories that would make you shake your head, half in laughter, half in disgust and wonder what to make of the whole convoluted mess. I don't feel like being mired in the "holy shit" of it all.
I started a new college in January. There was a blizzard that January. I got lost on my way to class every single time I even bothered to try to attend class that January. Hmm, not fun. Well, it had it's slightly amusing moments. I mostly just remember it as gray now.
I got dumped in a bar for tickling my boyfriend's butt one too many times in front of his friends in January. That's kinda funny. The fact that my ex who made me feel guilty and like a horrible human being was there to witness it kinda lessens the fun. As does the part where I went home with some random stranger that night who ended up being hung like, like ... uh, I guess one of those dildos you see and do an involuntary giggle, wondering how that would feel good. Yeah, that part was kinda funny, kinda pathetic.
Too bad it led to me pissing blood for a week, the final straw coming when I saw only blood and screamed in pain, while visiting a friend who lived four hours away from me. My friend came to pick me up and take me to the hospital. We stopped to see my daughter's father, who had gotten out of the Air Force "for us, and our daughter". The first thing we saw when walking in the door of his mother's house was his infant son, who hadn't been mentioned in the fairy tale he spun.
Then the pain pills led to some very interesting nights that are pretty amusing in a microcosm. As a whole, and part of one week, and the end of that particular month? Yeah, banging the resident crackhead in the bar bathroom is even more pathetic than if it had been part of some random time frame.
There are some pretty crappy pregnancy stories involving Januarys. There's just nothing funny about any of them.
Let's see ... I had fun with Patrick in January. But not much, he pretty much pushed me out of his life in January. The funniest part of that night involved something terribly not funny in retrospect as well. Well, it's one of those things that's funny in a "holy shit" kinda way, again.
Um ...
My boyfriend found out he had cancer in January. I dumped him later in the month, partially because of how he and his family acted about that whole deal. Really, when I'm the most rational and ready to confront reality person in the room, there's a big fucking problem. Who pretends a cancerous tumor the size of a freaking baseball doesn't exist while it's being removed, then pretends it never existed as the doctor is explaining it to them, and then ignores the whole fucking thing as soon as the patient wakes up from the operation?? The guy had surgery that took place through his penis, and they had him taking his nephew to the aquarium less than two hours later. Hello?!? (He was actually perfectly fine by the time I dumped him, btw). Yeah, nothing funny there either.
Yeah, OK. Just fuck January. Unless I make something ridiculously wonderful happen in the next five days or so, I think I'm going to hibernate through next January. I bet I have some funny shit that happened in February though ...
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Father Jared
One of my old fraternity buddies is now a Cath.ol.ic pri.est. No, it was not a service fraternity. In fact, while Father Jared was a member, they got kicked off campus, then disbanded totally by both the university and the national fraternity headquarters, or whatever you want to call it. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it, and I think the seminar.ry and all the shit they have to go through afterwards takes a minimum of six years.
The first time I heard he was taking this particular life path, I was at an outdoor, town-wide music festival. A group of us were gathered outside the beer tent, and someone made a joke about his new vocational path. I was confused, because he was never a particularly caring, or tactful person. In fact, he had a big mouth and told everyone any privileged information he heard. I was pondering these personality traits and how ill suited they are for a supposed leader and confidante. Of course, the little boy and gay jokes were made. I tried to keep it civil, and just mentioned that I supposed he'd finally given up on women. My natural follow up to that was, "I guess that means he's still a virgin, huh?"
Everyone stopped and stared at me. One guy said, "You know he's not." I thought about it a bit, trying to remember a possible suspect. I couldn't come up with one that should be obvious to me, so I asked who. They told me it was me.
Now, I've been drunk. I've been blacked out and woken up naked in strange places, (and occasionally not so strange places) and assumed how my memory hole was filled. *ahem* Not once had this guy ever been in a position where I'd even question myself. I remember him trying, by using a "come tuck me in" trick that had eventually worked for one of his pledge brothers. I also remember turning my head so he slobbered all over my cheek as I stood in his dorm hallway (three doors away from where I went in with someone else) and then went home.
I remembered being his date to numerous fraternity functions when he couldn't convince anyone else to go with him. I remember both of us leaving with other people, and no hard feelings. I still did not remember de-virginizing Jared. I said so. No one quite believed me, because apparently he told them all I had during his freshman year. The other guys had been mentioning it, apparently out of my earshot, for the rest of their college days. Except it never happened.
They asked why I thought they called him Papa Jared. I shrugged and said it was because he was nice to my daughter and made sure no one said anything remotely off color near her, and tried to teach her how to play pool. I guess they thought I was smarter than I am, because no one believed that truth. Eventually, I pointed out that I got a huge kick out of de-virginizing guys, and I surely would have remembered if I had, and most likely would have brought it up in conversation repeatedly. The truth of this statement hit them, and they begrudgingly let the topic die. I'm not sure how many of the guys still think I slept with him, but ...
All those years I put up with his crap because I felt bad for him not fitting in, even amongst the misfits, and he was just perpetuating a lie. I got ragged on all the time, and it didn't bother me. Most people were just kidding, or thought it was fun to see how much I'd take before my claws came out, and I'd start ripping new assholes. It was always different with Jared though. I never felt like he was doing it to include me, but rather, to include himself. His "jokes" had a sharp edge that made even his fraternity brothers pause. Then he'd hug me, or pat my back and make sure to tell everyone he was just kidding and that they all loved me. Too bad he missed out on the fact that the same was obvious until he went too far. I always let it go because I could tell he was just trying to be impressive, or fit in, or something foreign to me that I could almost put my finger on, but not quite.
Anyway, this is a very long winded way of saying that I find it horribly ironic (for lack of a better word) that a man who has taken a vow to never have a family feels he can control the rights of other people's family making decisions. I'm having a very hard time letting his youthful bad decisions stay in the past when I have the opportunity to feel like I'm showing his par.ishioners how little he knows about life, and leadership and compassion, and how listening to him is just foolish. I know it is worthless though. I know the faithful will ignore or excuse the same things about him that I myself have ignored and excused. I know I will look petty and vindictive against a man with bad character who is now seen as a pillar of his society. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that everyone outside of his church knows he's still an asshole. ;)
The first time I heard he was taking this particular life path, I was at an outdoor, town-wide music festival. A group of us were gathered outside the beer tent, and someone made a joke about his new vocational path. I was confused, because he was never a particularly caring, or tactful person. In fact, he had a big mouth and told everyone any privileged information he heard. I was pondering these personality traits and how ill suited they are for a supposed leader and confidante. Of course, the little boy and gay jokes were made. I tried to keep it civil, and just mentioned that I supposed he'd finally given up on women. My natural follow up to that was, "I guess that means he's still a virgin, huh?"
Everyone stopped and stared at me. One guy said, "You know he's not." I thought about it a bit, trying to remember a possible suspect. I couldn't come up with one that should be obvious to me, so I asked who. They told me it was me.
Now, I've been drunk. I've been blacked out and woken up naked in strange places, (and occasionally not so strange places) and assumed how my memory hole was filled. *ahem* Not once had this guy ever been in a position where I'd even question myself. I remember him trying, by using a "come tuck me in" trick that had eventually worked for one of his pledge brothers. I also remember turning my head so he slobbered all over my cheek as I stood in his dorm hallway (three doors away from where I went in with someone else) and then went home.
I remembered being his date to numerous fraternity functions when he couldn't convince anyone else to go with him. I remember both of us leaving with other people, and no hard feelings. I still did not remember de-virginizing Jared. I said so. No one quite believed me, because apparently he told them all I had during his freshman year. The other guys had been mentioning it, apparently out of my earshot, for the rest of their college days. Except it never happened.
They asked why I thought they called him Papa Jared. I shrugged and said it was because he was nice to my daughter and made sure no one said anything remotely off color near her, and tried to teach her how to play pool. I guess they thought I was smarter than I am, because no one believed that truth. Eventually, I pointed out that I got a huge kick out of de-virginizing guys, and I surely would have remembered if I had, and most likely would have brought it up in conversation repeatedly. The truth of this statement hit them, and they begrudgingly let the topic die. I'm not sure how many of the guys still think I slept with him, but ...
All those years I put up with his crap because I felt bad for him not fitting in, even amongst the misfits, and he was just perpetuating a lie. I got ragged on all the time, and it didn't bother me. Most people were just kidding, or thought it was fun to see how much I'd take before my claws came out, and I'd start ripping new assholes. It was always different with Jared though. I never felt like he was doing it to include me, but rather, to include himself. His "jokes" had a sharp edge that made even his fraternity brothers pause. Then he'd hug me, or pat my back and make sure to tell everyone he was just kidding and that they all loved me. Too bad he missed out on the fact that the same was obvious until he went too far. I always let it go because I could tell he was just trying to be impressive, or fit in, or something foreign to me that I could almost put my finger on, but not quite.
Anyway, this is a very long winded way of saying that I find it horribly ironic (for lack of a better word) that a man who has taken a vow to never have a family feels he can control the rights of other people's family making decisions. I'm having a very hard time letting his youthful bad decisions stay in the past when I have the opportunity to feel like I'm showing his par.ishioners how little he knows about life, and leadership and compassion, and how listening to him is just foolish. I know it is worthless though. I know the faithful will ignore or excuse the same things about him that I myself have ignored and excused. I know I will look petty and vindictive against a man with bad character who is now seen as a pillar of his society. I guess I can take comfort in the fact that everyone outside of his church knows he's still an asshole. ;)
Monday, January 09, 2012
set adrift
I'm bored, lonely, and suffering from insomnia. This usually leads me to reminisce, and write. I'm tired of remembering when I had a life worth writing about. I want a life worth thinking about and writing about now. I'm just not sure how to accomplish that. Less than a month ago, I thought I would accomplish that. Now I'm stuck on the pause button, yet again.
I mentioned to a friend today that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it to my Tuesday volunteer duties, which posed a problem mostly because finding a substitute is your own problem and not many of the women there talk to me. He responded that as far as he could tell, women never really talked to me. I've been told this numerous times in numerous ways before. I'm not really sure what the deal is, but it's true.
When I first gained weight after my son was born, I noticed more women spoke to me. I just figured it was because I had a baby, and therefore automatically became approachable, but I wasn't always with him. Then I lost a lot of weight. No one spoke to me then. No, wait, that's not true. Teenagers thought I was their age so they spoke to me, and women above retirement age spoke to me regularly. Then I gained a little bit of weight back, and once again, women spoke to me. I had my ass grabbed by women (bartenders, no less) in bars, I was told I'd be a good reason to try same-sex sex, and just generally approached by women. Then some more weight stuck to my ass. Now very few people speak to me, and no one approaches me. Awesome.
I wonder what the deal is, and whether it says more about me or more about other people. I suspect pleasantly plump is just below a certain acceptable threat level. Too far above that level, no contact. Too far below, why bother? I've pretty much been the same the whole time. *sigh* It seems ridiculous to even think that, because I'm never one to put any effort into my looks, or think that I look good, ever. I'm pretty sure it's not just a figment of my imagination though.
Why is it so hard to make friends after a certain age? I don't want or need drinking buddies anymore, but someone who used to drink and whore it up, and now tries to maintain some sort of "normalcy" while still retaining a personality would be much appreciated. I know people who have never given it up, and I know people who pretend they've never done a damn thing that would be considered "adult fun" in their whole lives. Why is it so hard to let go of part of it, but not all of it? Maybe because if you do it that way, you end up still awake at 5:15AM, writing crap and wondering why life has to be so difficult.
I mentioned to a friend today that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it to my Tuesday volunteer duties, which posed a problem mostly because finding a substitute is your own problem and not many of the women there talk to me. He responded that as far as he could tell, women never really talked to me. I've been told this numerous times in numerous ways before. I'm not really sure what the deal is, but it's true.
When I first gained weight after my son was born, I noticed more women spoke to me. I just figured it was because I had a baby, and therefore automatically became approachable, but I wasn't always with him. Then I lost a lot of weight. No one spoke to me then. No, wait, that's not true. Teenagers thought I was their age so they spoke to me, and women above retirement age spoke to me regularly. Then I gained a little bit of weight back, and once again, women spoke to me. I had my ass grabbed by women (bartenders, no less) in bars, I was told I'd be a good reason to try same-sex sex, and just generally approached by women. Then some more weight stuck to my ass. Now very few people speak to me, and no one approaches me. Awesome.
I wonder what the deal is, and whether it says more about me or more about other people. I suspect pleasantly plump is just below a certain acceptable threat level. Too far above that level, no contact. Too far below, why bother? I've pretty much been the same the whole time. *sigh* It seems ridiculous to even think that, because I'm never one to put any effort into my looks, or think that I look good, ever. I'm pretty sure it's not just a figment of my imagination though.
Why is it so hard to make friends after a certain age? I don't want or need drinking buddies anymore, but someone who used to drink and whore it up, and now tries to maintain some sort of "normalcy" while still retaining a personality would be much appreciated. I know people who have never given it up, and I know people who pretend they've never done a damn thing that would be considered "adult fun" in their whole lives. Why is it so hard to let go of part of it, but not all of it? Maybe because if you do it that way, you end up still awake at 5:15AM, writing crap and wondering why life has to be so difficult.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
new health week 1
I decided to give up gluten, dairy and sugar for the new year. I feel like shit all the time and have about 60lbs to lose. (I lost it about six years ago, but it found me again. I think this time I'm going to have to hide a little harder.) Yeah, fun. Being the idiot I am, I bought tons of crap to eat for New Year's Eve. I forgot to buy decent stuff to eat the next day and I didn't finish all the cheese dip and pretzels from the day before, so I finished that off on what was supposed to be my first day. *shrugs* I wobble when I wiggle, can barely stand up without OTC pain meds, and a lot of them, and I've been farting a lot. Oh yes, I've got some zits the size of dimes going on. WooHoo!! Looking and feeling good!! Or not. Two Aleve and four Motrin is standard, and allows me to hobble about a bit. I wake up choking on phlegm nightly.
Day 2: I decided that I'm going to wait to give up my beloved Cherry Pepsi. It helps get rid of migraines, blah, blah, fucking blah. Ate properly all day. Vegan Mac & Cheese with brown rice pasta for dinner. Wasn't crazy about it, so I only had a little. Will avoid the yellow mustard in the recipe next time. Remembered to take Aleve and Motrin before the pain was ridiculous.
Day 3: Forgot to take Motrin and Aleve. Read an article in which PepsiCo states that mice couldn't be found whole in cans of their soda because they'd melt into goo. Eeeewwww. Drank a few more sips, and put it down, disgusted. The bubbles were getting on my nerves, so I finished it, but that was my only Pepsi of the day. Pain was ridiculous so I had two left over hard pretzels. Decided going vegan and all the other shit was too much, had organic grass fed chip steak for dinner. Blech. Maybe I will avoid beef. Sprouted wheat rolls don't count, right? Had three pieces of leftover candy around 10:00, but I'm still doing better than usual.
Day 4: woke up.with a headache. Must remember to take pain meds before I give in and eat away the pain. Ugh. No pain killers will make this plague better. Yuck. Sick. Must not give in, may as well get detox symptoms over with while I'm sick, right? Ate pretzels and drank soda. Fun.
Day 5: feel almost human again. No soda in the house, so that's good. Rice w/seaweed and ume plum vinegar. Tofu w/avocado and spinach on sprouted wheat. Pepperoni. Tongue split at the tip. Kinda like a big paper cut. Ouch. No sugar. Head killing me. Blech. Blech. Blech.
Day 6: I only got about three hours of sleep last night, but I made it all day yesterday without cheating. Surprisingly, I feel better than I have all week. In the midst of my painful tossing and turning, I realized that if I cheat, all that pain and annoyance will be for nothing and I'll start back at square one again. That idea doesn't sound appealing, at all. Also helping this is a severe money shortage. I can't buy soda if I wanted to, we're that damn broke right now. Ugh. Good thing we have lots of healthy food in the house, right? Right? Yeah. I know. I'm not buying it either. WooHoo!! Made it through today without cheats too!! I *did* eat a potato with chicken (which is a no-no for my son), and I made pan fried popcorn chicken (with organic brown rice coating), but fuck, was it delicious. Meat will be cut out too, I just need to eat something in the transitional phase. At this point, I fully realize how dumb it would be to cheat now. Two whole days without doesn't sound that impressive, until you try to do it. Bitches who do it all the time must be fucking crazy. Right, cuz I'm not aiming for all the time myself. *sigh* Just call me a crazy bitch. Hopefully I'll at least be a hot crazy bitch soon enough. I need to get laid.
Day 7. Only four hours of sleep again, but I can walk, so that's good. Starting to run out of food that looks appealing and is easy to grab, but I made it without cheats. Now if I can just find a good gluten free pretzel recipe, I think I'll be set. Might try making rice crackers tomorrow. Fun stuff. Hopefully I can smell things properly soon, I'm having a hard time cooking without my nose. Oooh, just realized I didn't take any pain meds today. Huh. Will you look at that? Uh, 3 days down, who the hell knows how many more to go.
Day 2: I decided that I'm going to wait to give up my beloved Cherry Pepsi. It helps get rid of migraines, blah, blah, fucking blah. Ate properly all day. Vegan Mac & Cheese with brown rice pasta for dinner. Wasn't crazy about it, so I only had a little. Will avoid the yellow mustard in the recipe next time. Remembered to take Aleve and Motrin before the pain was ridiculous.
Day 3: Forgot to take Motrin and Aleve. Read an article in which PepsiCo states that mice couldn't be found whole in cans of their soda because they'd melt into goo. Eeeewwww. Drank a few more sips, and put it down, disgusted. The bubbles were getting on my nerves, so I finished it, but that was my only Pepsi of the day. Pain was ridiculous so I had two left over hard pretzels. Decided going vegan and all the other shit was too much, had organic grass fed chip steak for dinner. Blech. Maybe I will avoid beef. Sprouted wheat rolls don't count, right? Had three pieces of leftover candy around 10:00, but I'm still doing better than usual.
Day 4: woke up.with a headache. Must remember to take pain meds before I give in and eat away the pain. Ugh. No pain killers will make this plague better. Yuck. Sick. Must not give in, may as well get detox symptoms over with while I'm sick, right? Ate pretzels and drank soda. Fun.
Day 5: feel almost human again. No soda in the house, so that's good. Rice w/seaweed and ume plum vinegar. Tofu w/avocado and spinach on sprouted wheat. Pepperoni. Tongue split at the tip. Kinda like a big paper cut. Ouch. No sugar. Head killing me. Blech. Blech. Blech.
Day 6: I only got about three hours of sleep last night, but I made it all day yesterday without cheating. Surprisingly, I feel better than I have all week. In the midst of my painful tossing and turning, I realized that if I cheat, all that pain and annoyance will be for nothing and I'll start back at square one again. That idea doesn't sound appealing, at all. Also helping this is a severe money shortage. I can't buy soda if I wanted to, we're that damn broke right now. Ugh. Good thing we have lots of healthy food in the house, right? Right? Yeah. I know. I'm not buying it either. WooHoo!! Made it through today without cheats too!! I *did* eat a potato with chicken (which is a no-no for my son), and I made pan fried popcorn chicken (with organic brown rice coating), but fuck, was it delicious. Meat will be cut out too, I just need to eat something in the transitional phase. At this point, I fully realize how dumb it would be to cheat now. Two whole days without doesn't sound that impressive, until you try to do it. Bitches who do it all the time must be fucking crazy. Right, cuz I'm not aiming for all the time myself. *sigh* Just call me a crazy bitch. Hopefully I'll at least be a hot crazy bitch soon enough. I need to get laid.
Day 7. Only four hours of sleep again, but I can walk, so that's good. Starting to run out of food that looks appealing and is easy to grab, but I made it without cheats. Now if I can just find a good gluten free pretzel recipe, I think I'll be set. Might try making rice crackers tomorrow. Fun stuff. Hopefully I can smell things properly soon, I'm having a hard time cooking without my nose. Oooh, just realized I didn't take any pain meds today. Huh. Will you look at that? Uh, 3 days down, who the hell knows how many more to go.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
[This was written, shit, five years ago, after seeing Patrick again for the first time in years. I waqs thinking about that night tonight. I just wish I had saved his comments. I could use a little hope and a bit of feeling alive these days.]
You, yes, you. I meant you, I mean you. I don't know why, I don't know what it is, but something about you drives me fucking wild. As you noticed, I can't keep my hands off you. I don't know why. I damn well remembered that I couldn't all those years ago, but, somehow I thought maybe this time it would be different. That I would have some self control. As you noticed, I was wrong.
I remember A LOT about you from then. I remember these things very fondly. I also remember them as unfinished. Very unfinished. Yes, I am still a little tipsy, not too bad, but a little. I can type easily. I can taste your beer and cigarettes, feel where your facial hair touched my chin. I want to remember more tastes, more smells, more everything. I can't believe I savored the taste of beer and cigarettes, if you really want to know. It's been many many years since I've tasted that.
It's been many years since I felt like someone wanted to run into bed with me, and stay there for a damn long time. To be honest, I was surprised I felt that at all. I thought all the years of being ignored would have taken their toll, made me feel less inclined, less desirable, less lots of things. A few more pounds, a few more years, nothing made a difference.
I think it bugs me because, as I mentioned many times tonight, I like to be in control of my emotions. I like to know my limits, and I may push them to the very edge, but I still have them. I don't feel any set of limits when you are next to me. I was glad that lady made us dance because I really wanted to touch you, to hold your body next to mine. I think you were glad too.
Anyone who can read about my bowel movements and say that I am eloquent about discussing my ass is alright with me. I hope my desire to be near you, touch you, hold you doesn't scare you. I don't like feeling clingy, and that's how I feel around you. Not clingy in the usual sense though. Clingy as in, I want to be alone with you. I just want the world to disappear. Well, everyone except you. I don't want to be scary.
We should go check out that bell tower sometime soon. No one will ever know. :) Who the hell am I kidding? I'd probably make so much noise you'd end up losing your job. But I can be damn sure it'd be worth it.
Thank you for making me feel this way. I missed feeling wanted. I missed wanting someone. What I really want to know is why you have such a power over me. And also why I feel the need to share with you that this power exists. Breaking another cardinal rule right there. Bad enough I lost self control, but I insist upon telling you I lost it. Well, again, at least you know I'm honest. Keep that in mind, please. I am honest, so what I say is the truth, whether you may want to believe it or not. And yes, I came home and blogged about it.
Next time I'd like to have a lot more to blog about.
You, yes, you. I meant you, I mean you. I don't know why, I don't know what it is, but something about you drives me fucking wild. As you noticed, I can't keep my hands off you. I don't know why. I damn well remembered that I couldn't all those years ago, but, somehow I thought maybe this time it would be different. That I would have some self control. As you noticed, I was wrong.
I remember A LOT about you from then. I remember these things very fondly. I also remember them as unfinished. Very unfinished. Yes, I am still a little tipsy, not too bad, but a little. I can type easily. I can taste your beer and cigarettes, feel where your facial hair touched my chin. I want to remember more tastes, more smells, more everything. I can't believe I savored the taste of beer and cigarettes, if you really want to know. It's been many many years since I've tasted that.
It's been many years since I felt like someone wanted to run into bed with me, and stay there for a damn long time. To be honest, I was surprised I felt that at all. I thought all the years of being ignored would have taken their toll, made me feel less inclined, less desirable, less lots of things. A few more pounds, a few more years, nothing made a difference.
I think it bugs me because, as I mentioned many times tonight, I like to be in control of my emotions. I like to know my limits, and I may push them to the very edge, but I still have them. I don't feel any set of limits when you are next to me. I was glad that lady made us dance because I really wanted to touch you, to hold your body next to mine. I think you were glad too.
Anyone who can read about my bowel movements and say that I am eloquent about discussing my ass is alright with me. I hope my desire to be near you, touch you, hold you doesn't scare you. I don't like feeling clingy, and that's how I feel around you. Not clingy in the usual sense though. Clingy as in, I want to be alone with you. I just want the world to disappear. Well, everyone except you. I don't want to be scary.
We should go check out that bell tower sometime soon. No one will ever know. :) Who the hell am I kidding? I'd probably make so much noise you'd end up losing your job. But I can be damn sure it'd be worth it.
Thank you for making me feel this way. I missed feeling wanted. I missed wanting someone. What I really want to know is why you have such a power over me. And also why I feel the need to share with you that this power exists. Breaking another cardinal rule right there. Bad enough I lost self control, but I insist upon telling you I lost it. Well, again, at least you know I'm honest. Keep that in mind, please. I am honest, so what I say is the truth, whether you may want to believe it or not. And yes, I came home and blogged about it.
Next time I'd like to have a lot more to blog about.
Friday, November 25, 2011
i thought
I thought it was supposed to get easier as years passed. I thought the bitter sting of longing and loss lost some of its pucker, became more of an acquired taste, somehow got tempered by the sour hanging around. (Did you know that sour balances bitter in your mouth? It does. It still tastes like shit, but somehow sour is easier to swallow without gagging than bitter.) All the various slights, oversights and plain old inconsiderate rudeness that make up holidays around here brought the stinging heat of loss with them. It is easier to imagine him being soothing, sweet and considerate. I know the opposite could be true, but when the chance to live it is erased, we always imagine the best case scenario. I never imagine that he may have ended up being just as much of a pain in the ass, his family just as rude and manipulative. A large part of me resists even writing that sentence. My heart just says, "No."
I could imagine my current life before it came to fruition. Not exactly, but I knew the seed was there. I've always known I am something to keep around, for no reason I can discern. No effort is, or ever has been, made to placate me when, well, any mood other than favorable hits. So, I imagine Patrick would've been different. Patrick would've at least tried. Patrick this, Patrick that. There's probably not a whole lot of Patrick left, but fuck if the bile doesn't rise in my throat, wishing he was whole, and there, being helpful and useful.
I have to find a way to make it stop.
I could imagine my current life before it came to fruition. Not exactly, but I knew the seed was there. I've always known I am something to keep around, for no reason I can discern. No effort is, or ever has been, made to placate me when, well, any mood other than favorable hits. So, I imagine Patrick would've been different. Patrick would've at least tried. Patrick this, Patrick that. There's probably not a whole lot of Patrick left, but fuck if the bile doesn't rise in my throat, wishing he was whole, and there, being helpful and useful.
I have to find a way to make it stop.
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