I Wish I Knew How To Breathe

Go Bama! Roll tide!!

2011-11-10T03:03:00.002-05:00

You don’t find out how truly unfair life is until somebody you love dies.

Death brings out people’s true natures at the worst possible time. You find out who your true friends are. You find out how important you are at your job. You find out how important it is to be prepared. You find out way too much information about the person that died that you really didn’t need to know. You find out who is just hanging around and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. You find out how stupid people really think you are.

Death is a mother fucking bitch.

It’s not fair that you have to keep moving. Life should come to a stand still when someone dies…give you time to stretch, accept, and breathe…but no. As soon as someone dies you have to make decisions. Funeral, wake, obituaries, clothes, donations, money, family, last wishes, tombstone, funeral parlor, cemetery, time of day, which day, how long, pall bearers, flowers, bills…and then you get to worry about your life that has to keep moving and all the decisions you have to make for that. It’s an unending clusterfuck of emotions and situations. All you want to do is curl into a ball and mourn this person you loved, wallow a little bit in your memories, find a few choice mementos and hope for a way to move on.

My daddy died.

Writing that just took my breath away. Like, I’ve never seen it in print. It crosses my mind a thousand times a day but I have never seen it written down as plainly and as simply as that. It really hurts.

Now, my father hadn’t been in the best of health for a very long time. You would think his death was something that was planned for or something we were prepared for, but it wasn’t. I was getting ready to move in and finally be able to take care of him and mom. The last time I saw him awake, he was sitting in his bed, all wide eyed talking about teams, trades, and popcorn chicken. He confessed he had fallen a few days before and hadn’t told me. And I was mad at him for that for hiding it from me when that was the whole reason I was moving there…and for how filthy the fridge had been and how since I had come there, nothing was getting cleaned and I was treated like it was my responsibility. I could feel myself slipping into Cinderella syndrome all over again, and I hated it. I was there to help, but I wasn’t the help. It wasn’t my job to clean up a house he had spent the last few months neglecting because of his depression. Everywhere I looked, the place seemed like a shrine to my mom, like she was already dead and he wanted everything to be the same way it had been the last day she had been home. He was always saying so and so came by and helped clean this or that, but that was bullshit. Nobody ever cleaned anything in that house, and if mom had been home, she’d have been pissed off and since she couldn’t be pissed off, I got pissed off because my dad was better than that. He was almost living like a squatter in his own home because he couldn’t bear to go to the other parts of the house without my mom being there. It pissed me off, made me a little sad, and a lot guilty. I started to see how sad and lonely my dad had really been. All that time I had been begging him to come live with me; all those times I couldn’t sleep from worry he was somewhere sleepless and bereft and he’d kept telling me he was fine…he was blessed…everything was good. Only every once in awhile would he break down and tell me how much he hated being alone and how he could still hear my mom calling him sometimes. I would cry and beg him to come with me, but he would always change the subject or turn me down. I never realized he was waiting for me to give up my life and come to live with him. He would never ask me to do it, but the day I said I would his face was so relieved and happy, it broke my heart. But as heartbroken as I was, the state of the place was getting under my skin and I was starting to feel reality sink in that my life wasn’t going to just be my life anymore. I was right back to where I was 10 years ago, under my parents’ beck and call and rules and ways. I couldn’t breathe. I had to escape while I could still escape, so I went back to my place to pack and get perspective.

I don’t remember if I hugged and kissed him goodbye. I hope I did. I honestly don’t remember if I did it, but I remember wanting to do it even though I was mad at him. I remember not wanting to leave him there, but needing to do it either way because I hadn’t been home in a few days and I wanted to make sure it hadn’t been broken into…and I still needed to pack and get my hair done. I still had to take care of my life. And I stood next to him, full of anger and love, torn about leaving him suddenly, but making plans for stuff we could do when I came back. Maybe a movie night. Cook dinner on Sunday…hot wings for football, maybe. Last thing I did was make him promise to call me if anything happened…if he felt sick or anything. He blew me off with a “Yeah, ok. I will,” like he always did. I said I loved him and he said, “Love you too, little girl.”

And I left.

The next time I saw him, he was unconscious in a hospital bed. Seven days later on a Wednesday I sat across the room, staring at my dad with tears streaming down my face. Hating myself for leaving him, hating him for not calling me or taking better care of himself, hating the visiting nurse for not making him go to the hospital sooner. Hating the whole fucking world, really. I was waiting for him to shake himself awake, but his eyes were staring off into space. I thought he saw me, though. I moved closer and spoke to him and he had a seizure and I freaked out, but something told me he saw me and heard me and was trying to respond to me. The doctors recommended taking him off the machine and giving him morphine. My one uncle refused that, so we didn’t. As much as I didn’t want to hope, I did start to hope he was getting better. We were cleaning out the house and I kept thinking how made he was gonna be at us for getting out of that house. Then he got worse. Docs said he was pretty much brain dead and he wouldn’t be coming back to us.

You never think that at 35 you were going to wake up one day and watch your father die, but that’s what I did. There were so many people there, and they kept talking about my mom and we all felt like shit because she didn’t know…still doesn’t know. Her mental and physical state is too fragile right now. She can’t even grasp the severity of her own situation, better yet the death of her husband. Lucky us. When she is well enough, we get to watch dad die all over again in his wife.

Finally, I had my time alone with dad. I refused to wear gloves because I didn’t want to be wearing something the last time I touched him as if I were afraid of him. I hugged him and I stroked his temple as I told him we would all be okay. We would look out for mommy and each other. We would be a real family. Me and mom were good…I wanted to take care of her. We wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She was right upstairs and was here with him in a way. She was going to be okay. He could let go. We understood he was tired. It was okay. He could go. I don’t know how many times I repeated that through tears, but I know he heard me. I know it. He started breathing slower and slower and I thought he was going to go while with me, but then I whispered Jay wanted to come in and say good night and his breathing picked up again like he wanted to talk to Jay. I hugged him again. I kissed him again. I rubbed his head and I told him I loved him more than anything in the world. He was my dad…my dude. I will always be his little girl. I touched my forehead to his and whispered, “Go Bama, roll tide” as my tears fell on his face. The last thing I whispered was, “Good night, daddy.”

As I trudged my way to the waiting room, I felt a shiver go down my spine and I knew it. I knew I would never see my dad alive again.

I was right.

Jason and Amanda have been awesome in all of this. Jay stepped up as mom’s medical power of attorney and Amanda and I and my uncles went to the funeral home and took care of everything. But beyond that, even being pregnant, Jay and Amanda have been running themselves ragged so we can get dad’s place cleaned out and get mom’s affairs in order. I still have to move and I will get a place mom can move into when she comes home. Every since dad took his last breath, the rest of us have been caught up in its whirlwind. Everything is chaos. We just had Amanda’s shower for the twins and that night her mom mom had to be taken to the hospital. Poor Mands, as round as a weeble cried out, “Why does God hate me?” after the doors shut. I can’t speak of her sadness or Jay’s grief, because that is something they share and only they know. I only know my grief and misgivings and regrets. Every day I wake up thinking of him. Expecting a text about nothing or seeing a post on the fantasy league board from him. I keep waiting to hear his voice. I wonder if we did the right thing. I hope he knows we did what we could. We didn’t know any plans. Nothing was ever discussed with us. We did what we thought best. We did what we thought would make him happy. And now we play the waiting game to tell mom and hope to God her first reaction isn’t to follow after her Thornie or that her second is to hate us and blame us for not telling her and having her miss saying goodbye and his funeral. These thoughts consume my days and I bear it alone, slightly jealous of Jason having Amanda to turn to while I lay alone at night with my tears and missed conversations for company. I know I have friends that are here for me, but it’s not the same as a lover. Friends aren’t obligated. I am not their responsibility, and as much as I want to run to one of them and cry until I’m dry, I can’t. I just can’t. So instead I crawl into myself, have bouts of sporadic tears, smoke myself senseless, and pretend everything is all right.

I find myself unable to find a way to finish this, because I have so much to say. So much has been happening, and I still want to write about my dad, but my heart is heavy and I am becoming maudlin. I didn’t want to write anything to get pity from anyone. I just wanted to write about what’s going on…about my dad…about my turn around with mom…about how amazing Manda’s family has been throughout all of this…how much I admire Jay and Manda’s strength…I just needed to get everything out and down on paper. I just needed to tell someone. I just needed to share.

Like my daddy told me, “You are a writer and a writer must do what a writer must do or they ain’t a writer. When you don’t write, you’re not you, so just do what comes so natural to you that others would kill for. I wish I had your talent. You better do something with it! Promise me you won’t waste it! Even if you fail you win because at least you tried.”

And so I write.

No amount of words could ever fill the void my father has left in his wake, but to honor him, I will attempt it.
I know I am rambling and not making any sense.
I guess all I wanted to say is…

I miss you, dad.

He's Just Not That Into You

2011-01-17T14:20:00.002-05:00

Dear Mike,

I figure these will be the last time I say these words to you...well...I figure these will be the last words to you ever. Yes, I am writing this here and not sending it so it will end up in the void with everything else unsaid between us. I am doing it because I need to do it, so I can say goodbye here and avoid any confrontations in the future. If I can get out this goodbye I won't have that incredible need to see you again or speak to you again. If I write this goodbye I will be able to grasp the concept of you being out of my life and moving on, finally, away from all the craziness of you and the delusions of us.

I am to the point where I don't have anymore excuses for you. I have always made up reasons why we could never seem to be at the same place at the same time. Hell, even my friends started making up excuses for you because they saw how much I loved you and they noted how your actions never matched your words, too. So I know it wasn't just something I made up in my head...I wasn't the only one duped and confused by you. When it came to me, you had everybody fooled...my friends, our friends...even your friends.

I need to apologize to you. You see, I romanticized you in my head. I made you into this tragic hero, a starving artist, a wounded heart afraid of loving again. You were the victim and I was the only one that could protect and save you. I was the only one that saw you. I was the only one that understood you. And I still stand by that...I did really see and understand you...I just distorted the truth in my head and gave you more credit than you deserved. I disregarded the whole of you and clamped onto the parts I liked most and amplified them. So it's not like I didn't see or know the whole you...I just ignored or excused the bad parts.

It never occurred to me that you're just greedy; that you didn't feel anything for me and don't want to ever feel anything for me. I was just there when you needed or wanted me. I was your gal friday, your midnight marauder, your ride or die. All the emotion in this thing was from my side, and you just rode those feelings into the ground to suit your needs. I was never going to be anything more to you...you were never going to see me any differently. You would intensify your push when you knew I was turning to or with someone else...you would turn the charm up to irresistible long enough for me to turn from them and back to you. Once I fully committed myself back to you, you would back off and leave me stranded, wondering what I did wrong and waiting for you to come back. Waiting, waiting, waiting...I have always found myself in a constant holding pattern of waiting for you, and the longer I waited the lower I would sink into desperation and depression until you'd come back again. It became the norm. It was acceptable. It was part of who we were.

But accepting that you're just a greedy, selfish, prick doesn't negate all of the things you did that always questioned that image of you. Like the times you came up to the bar when you knew it was my girl's night out there, how you'd call me in the night to come and sit with you when you were feeling low, how you'd come all the way down from New York just for me and head right back, how you watch me when we're away from each other, how your body always betrays you when we're near, how you call me when you're feeling lost or alone, how you don't seem to relax until I curl next to you, how you're always at home wherever I am; how you always seem to find me and rush back into my life. That's not my imagination. Those are all the things that others have always commented on and said I should hold on because they always showed how you felt about me...how you needed me. Those things were always only about me. You always said no, no, no...we can't, we shouldn't, we don't want to go there...I don't want to lose what we have. And then there was the notorious sleepy, drunken confession you made in the back seat of my car after you drove all the way to my friend's house to find me in the middle of the night, "Don't leave me, Tee. I need you. I love you, Tee Tee." Yeah you asshole, you said that. You touched my face and pulled me close so I laid against your chest, gripping my hand until I promised to stay. Then you sighed deeply and dozed, and I sat crying against your chest because I knew you'd forget all about it...or at least pretend to forget it. And of course you did. You woke up and stared at me like you were waiting for me to call you on it, and when I didn't you unwound from me and put me at arms' length. And you've kept me there ever since.

Sad part is, I know you'll come back around. You'll leave me alone for awhile and then come back when you think all is forgotten and less raw. You'll call out of the blue and need to stay over and wait for me to crawl next to you and ask me to touch you before exhale and feel at home. But your number is blocked, so I won't get that call. Or text. I know you won't email me or just show up at my door...not anymore. Before you would. You've done the pop in a few times. It's a shame the only way I can stand up to you is by avoiding you, but it's true. I have loved you too long to just turn away. I have hoped for us far too long for it all to fade over night. But I'm working on it and eventually...eventually...you will just be another story that I tell to the next guy...and I will be some silly girl you laugh and wonder about every now again. We will both fade into shadowy memories that bother us in the realm in between wake and dreams.

So here it is, my final words to you because I know you will never fight for me and will let me slip into oblivion. Seven years I loved you...was in love with you for seven years. You will never find another woman on the face of this fucking earth that will love you more or love you better than me. I know you as well as I know myself in most ways. My greatest joy would be to see you happy. No one else will put up with your moods or whims or adapt to you as well as me. No one will look at you like I do and you know that. When you look into other chicks eyes you don't see what you see in mine and that's the thing that is always missing, you idiot.

I am what you're always missing.

Am I in love still? Not really. I'm in love with the ideas I had of you still, but not you. Do I love you? Yes. I still love you. I will always love you because no matter what emotional turmoil you have kept me in, there is one thing you did that I will never forget...you saw me. When I was small and invisible and a nobody, you came to me and smiled and made me feel beautiful. You saw me. Deny it all you want, you needed me...and maybe not now, but at one time you did love me. Still might love me, just refuse to act on it. I know one thing...you've always relied on me loving you. You've always needed me to love you and you knew I always would, no matter what dumb shit you said or did. It's just...I'm tired of you telling me we can't be. I'm tired of excuses and no real reasons. I'm tired of waiting for you to change. I'm tired of waiting. I'm just tired...of you.

Dearest boy, you have finally worn me the fuck out and have gotten what you said you wanted...
for me to forget about there ever being an "us" in your eyes.

Even so, the wee morning hours will always belong to you. Our world will forever exist within the walls of sleep tumbling into wake. And in that haze I will always love you and regret you as I open my eyes, but once my eyes are open, you will slip away and I will move through my life trying not to think of you until I won't have to try anymore. One day you will have nothing of me but that hazey world that barely exists. You'll be a sad smile when I listen to a certain melody, a regret that tenses the back of my neck when I watch love stories, an errant wish I might drunkenly make upon a shooting star. Yes, one day you will no longer be my everything, and I just might end up being the girl you most regret.

Maybe. Possibly.

One thing's for sure, beloved...that Neverland will always be ours.

You will always be my Peter Pan.

Shut up and bleed

2010-08-15T22:12:00.003-04:00

What is torture to me?

Torture is lying beside him, inches away and worlds apart, with my heart hammering in my chest and my hands cramped from anticipation of reaching out to touch him...anywhere...just a little touch...just to make sure he is really there.

I don't know what's worse with our encounters, when we're intimate or when we're avoiding intimacy...because everything we do seems intimate to me. The way we watch each other, the way we listen to each other, feed off of each others' energy...the way our pulses jump when we touch each other...it's undeniable. We are undeniable.

Yet, we remain denied.

The thing that gets me the most is the way his scent lingers for days after he goes. On my skin, my furniture, my sheets...everywhere...wherever he has been...whatever he has touched...becomes infused with his essence and rips at my heart after he goes to remind me he is gone and I can never be sure when he will come back. And he haunts me viciously, relentlessly dominating my thoughts and dreams while I anticipate seeing him again, and just when I give up and feel like I am moving on, he comes back again. Like an acid re-trip, he stays in my blood and flashbacks on me when I start to come clean. It's always the same dream that haunts me, the same memory; of us in the front seat of my car in front of that diner. He has his hand on my cheek and his face is covered with glitter from my skin and he's staring at me with those damned dark eyes like he's never seen me before. I just keep looking at everything...him, the light, his hand, his suit...trying to memorize everything because I had finally admitted how I felt about him. And he laughed at me for waiting so long before reaching out to touch my ear and kiss me. He later tells me he's sorry and my heart sinks as I ask why and he shyly looks at me and says, "I guess I'm sorry because I'm not sorry that I'm here with you like this."

Over and over, time and again, I revisit this memory and it keeps me loving him. We were so honest in those moments in that car...before we learned to hide behind words and confound with opposing actions, we had something that night and it was beautiful and it was pure and I don't care what anyone says...he loved me then. And that's probably why that's the moment out of all of our moments that I hold onto so tightly. Every time I float from my dreams and I hover in that world between sleep and wake, I think of that moment. I think of his eyes and his scent and his touch and I feel him pulling me closer and just when our lips touch I wake up. Yes, every damn day I wake up thinking of him and go to sleep missing him. I try to convince myself that it's not him that I am yearning for, it's love that I really want, but that doesn't work. No one makes my heart ache like he does. No one makes these eyes cry as many tears. It's just him...always has been him...always will be him until I experience a moment like that with someone else and they change what love feels like to me.

Because right now, he is love to me. When I think about love I compare it to him, just as I compare his movements to music. He is all I know of love. He holds my heart. So that brings me back to my own question...what is torture to me? Torture is being so close to someone yet so far apart. It's loving someone unconditionally; it's racing pulses and looking into someone's face and seeing the person you fell in love with...not the crow's feet or the gray hair or the weathered skin...just your love, delicate and true. It's never wanting to be without that person. It's dreaming and growing and learning with that person. It's the sweetest prison there is.

Torture is being hopelessly in love with someone that doesn't see you the same way or love you back as surely as you love them. Torture is doubting love. Torture is doubting the one you love. Torture is keeping yourself from loving.

He is my torture...
and it's a condemnation I'd gladly endure for the rest of my days just to hear him once say to me "I love you, too." No gestures, nothing else...just those words, could make the rest of my life without him bearable. I could probably even move on.

Until then...I'm waiting...
inventing new ways to torture myself...
to endure my love for him.

This is the biggest feeling I've ever had and the only wish I've ever made for myself

2010-07-27T00:39:00.002-04:00

Tears had been forming in my eyes for quite some time, hidden from view by my giant sunglasses. As soon as the car stopped, one escaped, but he didn't see it and I was able to play it off and hold it together long enough to say goodbye. Goodbye is never a sentimental moment with my Brawler. Eric really isn't the mushy type. He grabs me and hugs me, with the violent urgency he always exudes at surprising moments, says its been real and hops out of the car. Tears fall when he leans down to wave goodbye and I leave as fast as possible, but when he's out of sight and I'm far enough away, my chest concaves and I am breathless with grief. Gulp, gasp, and then wail. Vision blurs and I turn off the radio so no song will be related to that moment, that emotion. I don't want to have any music to play when I think of him and need to cry harder.

Eric, my Brawler, is gone yet again.

I rarely see him anymore, but he is one of my best friends. We go long periods of time without talking, but he is one of my best friends. We really don't know each others lives anymore, but still, he is one of my best friends. It's hard to explain it. He's not there for me all of the time, but he is always there for me when he is needed. Last time he was here was 2006. He came this time because he had called one day out of the blue and I was crying over my foot and instead of just saying no like he always does when I ask him to come, he shocked me by relenting and saying yes. I didn't believe him until he came walking up my steps and there he was...tired and weathered and annoyed to be in Jersey, he said hello and my heart jumped into my throat. He had actually come. He had come for me.

We have always had a strange relationship. We met at work when my friends dared me to ask "the dark voiced don" if he wanted anything from Wawa. When I went to introduce myself, he said, "I know who you are," in a seemingly dismissive tone, but a slight smile was planted on his lips. He intrigued the hell out of me. So of course...I wanted to fall in love. After that night, he always sat with our group and we became good friends. He taught me to play chess, I gave him manicures, and he surprised himself by opening up to me and telling me secrets. He said I made him talk too much and it made him uneasy because he didn't understand it. I became his confessional, and thus he was my fallen saint. I can't express how much I adored him...how being around him filled me with tingly nervousness and caused me to mumble and trip over my words and ask dozens of inane questions. He would just laugh and comment on how cute my strangeness was and answer my questions with a bluntness that was ofttimes off-putting and hurt my feelings until I realized he wasn't being mean...it was just how he talked. Everything is a statement...flat out, that's it, no further discussion needed. It was arrogant and completely masculine, and everyday I was offended and attracted on so many levels it was ridiculous. He was my obsession. My Amen-Ra. It only became worse when I showed him my poems I'd written about him and he said it was some of the best stuff he'd ever read. When I told him they were about him...the look on his face and his stunned silence was priceless. He said he wasn't worthy of my opinion of him, and I just said I can only write what I see and know. He said I should be famous, I should go to poetry slams and poetry chats online and write a book and let the world see my talent. He called me phenomenal. I was in complete and utter awe. I was his slave.

But that was just our over-electrified friendship. That's all we were...all we are. It's hard to explain how I can love him so much without being in love with him. How I can need him so much without really wanting him. The sexual tension stays taught but never breaks or explodes into more. I am just a slave chained to his ankle. I gave myself to him and I never looked back. He repays me by never exploiting my devotion and occasionally contacting me to show me I am remembered and important to him and in his way, I am loved.

He came here and we watched bad movies and lounged around the house and had philosophical conversations in the dark about fate and God and love. He washed my dishes and took out my trash and fixed my headlight in 94 degree weather and fretted over my foot. He took care of me. He let me lay against him as I watched TV and asked my stupid questions. I had to be close to him when he laughed because it rumbles through his chest and it is the best feeling ever. I watched him go from here to there with my constant fascination and my heart was so happy to have him here with me I could barely take it. He acted as if it was an everyday thing for us to be together like that, and somewhere inside...that little spot that in me that will always be all his own...I wished that it was true. I wanted him to stay with me. I wanted the weekend to never end. But it did.

It always does.

So I kept myself in check the whole time, never allowing myself to be too emotional until his last night while he was drifting to sleep. "I'll miss you so much when you leave me. I don't know why I will miss you, but I always do." He was quiet for a moment and then he sighed as if I'd worn him out, like he always does when I say something like that and he thinks of a way to answer without sounding too callous. "You'll always have Starbucks and Gaetano's to remember me by so you don't miss me too much." A totally pointless answer, that has a touching inside joke inside of it. Noncommittal and completely honest. Eric all over.

Now he's gone and I am missing him terribly already. I was missing him even when he was still here. My Eric is my hero...my Vampire King...my Brooklyn Brawler; one of my fab five men that looks down on the sky. I don't think I will ever understand how I feel for him or why he always knows when to come for me when I really need him. He is my friend, one of my best friends, and all I know is I will always need him...and in my heart I know that no matter how far it might seem like we drift apart, whenever I really need him, he'll know it and no matter what, he'll come back for me.

My Brawler always comes for me.

You have no power over Me

2010-02-24T01:43:00.001-05:00

Though I am alone a lot, I have never really considered myself a lonely person. In fact, most of the time I like to be by myself because I know I won’t be doing something careless to hurt anyone. But lately, something has been creeping into my bones and has taken hold of me so I can’t just shake it off.

I am lonely.

It started when Mike forgot my birthday. I mean, it’s nothing new, but I really didn’t think he’d have an excuse to forget this year since he claimed he saved in on his calendar and whatnot. I know that he is merely my obsession and I am absolutely nothing to him except his savior, but when he didn’t Book me, Twit me, Text me, Email me, Letter me, or Call me on my birthday this year…after everything I’ve done for him the past few months, I have to be an asshole and admit that it really broke my heart. I waited all day for it, you know? I just knew this year he would actually remember me and wish me a happy birthday…say something to acknowledge the fact the fact that he’s glad that I was born. And of course, when the clock struck midnight and my birthday was officially over, I curled myself into a ball and cried. It hadn’t mattered at that moment that so many people had wished me well and I had a nice birthday dinner with my family that loves me…no…all that mattered was the fact that once again he had slighted me in one of the million insignificant ways he knows how to hurt me and I still had it in me somewhere to feel his cut and cry.

And I’ve been split open and bleeding every since then.

He’s still able to hurt me because I’m not with anyone that won’t hurt me. And yes, I know, that’s my fault…but still. He and Dooley will always be able to tie me into these knots and slit me with lemon laced razor blades because no one will make me love him more. I can’t sit here in good conscious and blame Mike for how he hurts me…at least not fully. It’s not his fault I fell in love with him. He can’t control my heart or actions, but he can control his…and as much as he protests my adoration, I’ve always felt like he also feeds off of it. He might not want my love, or me, but he’s damn sure glad that I’m there and that he’s got it. He won’t tell me he loves me, but he won’t fully declare that he doesn’t. He might go away for a bit but he never stays away. It’s as if he’s tied to me as much as I am to him but he either doesn’t see it or want to admit it. That’s what keeps me in love with him and he knows that. And that’s what makes him an asshole.

So he has been with me lately. His ghost, that is. And as usual, when his ghost comes, Dooley’s follows. I sit and think of both of them and wonder why everything is always so wrong and complicated and my mind churns and churns until it gets to where I can’t breathe…I only ache…and my only release is to pull away from the world and cry where no one can see me…because everyone that knows me knows that I shouldn’t be crying over them. The sad part is that people only know the bad things because I only gripe about the bad things. Then don’t know about all the good things Mike and Dooley have done for me…and why those are the things that hold me to them. I wish people knew the sides of them that they give to me because then they would see it. They would feel all the love mixed in with the confusion of it…and all I have said and gone through would be vindicated.

As it is, that is so not the case.
What. Ever.

I woke up this morning reaching out for someone that’s not there. I don’t know if I had been dreaming of someone or what, but there was a name on the tip of my tongue that I don’t remember and something solid under my hand before I fumbled into alertness. I blinked and stared at the empty side of my bed. For a moment I wished I really was the slut that most guys seem to think that I am so that someone…anyone would be there in that spot. I thought that waking up with a regret would far outweigh waking up alone. Why not lie and pretend and bullshit some dumbass into thinking I gave in to them…that I am in love with them? Make them love me so I can use them up? Why not play the game that insists on trying to play me?

Yeah, for a minute there, I was a real right bitch this morning. But I sat up, and looked around me, cursing myself out for thinking that way. Me and my stupid principles. I stared at my reflection and confessed that I’m not that girl…can never really be that girl. I’ve tried and failed several times, because when it comes down to it, I could never do to men what they do to me. I don’t want to be the one that fucks up a good guy and ruins any girl’s chance after. I don’t want to populate the world with another scared cynic like me.

I won’t be like this for long. I made a promise on Valentine's and I intend to stick to it. This is just a slight derailment.

Loneliness like this is only fancy. A broken heart last forever. No one can fix it or take it back or change it. Once it’s done, it’s done, and everyone else will only get pieces of the greatness that once existed before the breaker came to town.

I don’t know much…but that…I definitely know.

The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn Is Just To Love And Be Loved In Return

2010-02-14T17:34:00.002-05:00

Another lonely Valentine's Day.
Well, another Valentine's day alone.

As much as it all bothers me, I realize that I don't do too much to change my relationship situation. I don't go out, I don't meet new people, I don't give people that do show interest a chance to make it into more...and I don't know why. It's like I sabotage myself with men on purpose. I go after the ones I know I can never have or will never love me, and in a way they can't hurt me...not really...because I never expected it to be anything else but what it is.

And worse, parts of my heart will always belong to two men. I have tried to push them out all of the way, but I can't seem to do it. When I start talking to a new guy, I think that I'm...cheating on them in a way. I'm always hoping one will realize he loves me come and save me and I'm always worried that what I'm doing will break the other one's heart. Maybe I'm fooling myself about both of them. Of how I really feel about them. Maybe I haven't realized fully how I truly feel.

Maybe I really don't love them at all...only the idea of them...only the dream I had for them at one time...and that hurts me to think that.

All I know is next Valentine's day I don't want to be alone. I want to do whatever it is I have to do to get over my trust issues and intimacy issues so I can give myself to someone I really want and wants me just as bad.

Somewhere out there, there's someone that thinks I'm smart and beautiful and worth all the trouble my baggage may initially bring. When he looks at me, I will feel larger than the sky and twice as unconquerable. When I curl into his arms, I will feel safe and loved and I won't be thinking about how to escape or dreading the moment he will leave. I will just be able to exhale and be in the moment and love my little heart out because I will finally be able to trust someone. I will finally be safe and feel protected and wanted. That's all I want...it's the only thing that has always eluded me...a safe place.

Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone is waiting for me to find them...someone that was made just for me to love...

And I promise I will find him...
someday.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is breathe and reboot.

2009-08-13T15:37:00.000-04:00

Ctrl+Alt+Del
Control your emotions
Alternate your thought and reaction patterns
Delete anything negative and move on

That’s my new mantra. Ctrl+Alt+Del. Breathe and reboot. I’ve finally realized there’s nothing more I can really ever do than that. I’m always finding myself fighting a losing battle, whether it be with relationships, friendships, or a job situation, I seem to stick around long after the party is over and the curtains have been drawn. It’s hard to break the cycle, but I have to try. I can’t do this to myself anymore.

He contacted me last week. Michael. My…I don’t know what the hell he is now, or ever was actually. My infatuation? My delusion? My negation? I don’t know. He does what he always does. He emailed, then he IM’d, then texted, then called me late at night for a three hour call where we talk as if we are old battle buddies showing each other our scars. And of course he says he misses me and wants to see me and when I hesitate in agreeing he asks why. Then he asks me to detail, once again, why I love him and how it happened. We have had this same conversation several times and the result is always the same…he says he doesn’t understand it and then he disappears. He can’t break my heart anymore than he’s already broken it. There really isn’t any more damage he can do, other than get my hopes up just to dash them…and even that doesn’t have the same pain anymore. It still hurts…yes…it will always hurt…but not as intense as it once did. Now it is just a dull ache that lingers for about a week as I wait to see if I’m wrong…wait for a text, an email, or a call. But then it fades, and he fades…and he goes back into the recesses of my mind only to resurface now and then when something silly reminds me of him. We will never be what I want us to be. He will never be the man I see him as. I will never be the girl he chooses. So what can I do other than breathe and reboot and try to move on to the next thing?

Ctrl+Alt+Del

I’ve never been what someone would consider a good friend. I mean, if I’m needed, I’m there…and if I can I will do whatever I can to help out…but…I think I’m just a bit too touched in the head to carry on with long terms of interaction with anyone. Even my own brother. There comes a time when I get sad or scared or overwhelmed, and the only thing I know how to do well is retreat. I don’t like being emotional and I especially don’t like being emotional around other people because if I’m in a bad mood, I just want to be in a bad mood. I don’t want to have to pretend everything is ok. I don’t want to have to apologize for being snappish or quiet or ruining everyone else’s time, so when I feel like the world in crumbling in on me, I want to be alone. It’s just better that way because then no one takes shit personally and I’m not apologizing for something I can’t control. But even that, people take personally. Phones work both ways. So do texts. So do emails. So do pop ins at someone’s house. It’s ok for you not to come or call or text or email, but when I don’t do it I have an attitude. Couldn’t possibly be that I’m treating you the same way you treat me or I’m thinking that maybe you have an attitude since you haven’t contacted me. No. Of course not. When I’m not invited places or informed of things or answered on-line, it’s my fault. When I’m talking about how quickly you get mad at me and are willing to just cut me off, I’m jealous of your other friendships. Couldn’t be that you treat me differently or that it always seems like I’m the last to know anything that’s going on. No. Never that. That’s impossible. I’m just a moody, jealous, bitch that never wants to be around anyone. Alrighty then. The resolution? You’re done. Just like that. Not even a fight. You just say that you’re done and that’s the end of it. But I guess I should be grateful that you at least said that to me so I’m not sitting around waiting for you to call or text or drop by or for things to blow over. My main problem has always been closure. No one ever wants to give me closure or say good-bye, so it’s never over for me. You basically said good-bye. I don’t agree with it, nor did I want it, but why try to be with someone that doesn’t want you there? You said you’re done, so I have to be done, which means that…we’re done. It hurts. But if you’re so quick to dispose of us, then…something was really wrong anyway, that could never be fixed, that I apparently was oblivious to in the first place. I ‘m not a good friend, but I tried to be one to you. I really did try to be a better a person for you. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to miss you. But I do and I will…and still…I have to take a breath…and…and…let it be.

Ctrl+Alt

I haven’t spoken to my convict in a few months. Is it over? I don’t know. Do I ever know with him? No. Whenever I think it’s over, I pray to my angels for a sign and then lo and behold, I hear from him. I think that’s why I never stop believing in him. Something about us is touched with some kind of cosmic magic. It’s stupid and childish…but it’s true. My angels (all my little old ladies that always loved me and have gone to Heaven) have never steered me wrong. It’s true. I prayed for them to take Michael out of my life, and they did. I hear from him, but I seriously have not seen or been with him since then. I’ve been hesitant to ask them for a sign this time, though. I don’t know…if I want to know. I just wake up and go. I barely think of him. I don’t know what that means because I still miss him. But how can you miss someone you don’t think about or really want to talk to? The only two men I have ever loved always seem to be just out of my reach…even when I am with them. One I always give too much to one, and the other I give too little…and when things happen, I can actually sit back and say that it’s my fault it turned out that way without acting the martyr. I set things in motion, and even though I know what I’m doing I can’t seem to stop myself. Right now, I don’t need another thing distracting me. I don’t want to feel anything for anybody right now. Well, not for him. It’s too much and bounces in too many directions. I’ll talk to the angels when I’m ready. Maybe it’s just over already and as usual, I’m the last asshole to know it.

Ctrl

One good thing is everything was discharged and I’m in the clear. Thank God! I was waiting for bad news, but none came. I am so happy that I can start over. Start saving money and maybe still be able to get a house one day. My interview went really well. I was the number one candidate…but…of course, there’s a but…the shift that I was hoping for fell through. They will keep me in the pipeline though, and if one comes up that it is my time frame, I will be the first one they call. So…kinda good? I mean, it’s good to know they wanted me and think I can do the job, most definitely. I just wish they had my shift. So right now, I am stressed out by my current position at my job. I’m not a supervisor, but I sometimes get treated like one and not get paid for it or have any exceptions when it fucks up my phone time to help out other team mates. With all that, I like that people feel secure in coming to me for help and value my opinion…it just needlessly makes shit way more hectic for me. But then, if I hadn’t been doing that, I probably wouldn’t have been suggested for the position in the first place. Fucking catch 22.

I am totally stressed out over this wedding. I never knew so much work went into one when you’re in it. Bridal shower, wedding shower, bachelorette party, wedding, reception…lots of gifts, responsibilities, and outfits…which equals lots of time and money I don’t have. Outfits so far? Zero. Not even my bridesmaid dress and I have been looking all over for something nice. But shit in my size is ridiculous. It’s either cheap looking or looks like a freaking grandmother should wear it. I mean, nice looking regular clothes are hard to find, but nice looking elegant clothes are fucking damn near impossible! It’s been stressing me out so bad that my hair is breaking off and my skin has been breaking out. I just don’t want to fuck this up. Half of me thinks I should just drop out of the wedding, but the other half knows I would never forgive myself if I give up now and not take part of something so huge in my brother’s life. So the search continues. If the end of September comes and I’ve still failed, I’ll have no choice. I’ll have to pull out. Till then, it’s a damn dog race to the finish.

My dad is really sick…a lot sicker than he’s been saying he is.
I can’t…
Last night…the last few nights…I lay down to sleep and a phrase crosses my mind and then I have a crying fit. I am afraid to go to sleep. I am afraid to wake up and see my brother standing in my door again with bad news.
I don’t know what I would do.

Reboot, reboot, reboot.

And in reality, this whole Ctrl+Alt+Del thing, only partially works. Once you start thinking ‘well what if someone else has that same mantra and that’s why they’re cutting me off’ it really fucking backfires because then you’re going crazy trying to figure out what the fuck you did for them to feel that way and the whole controlling and alternating and deleting shit goes out the window. Nothing is 100% secure in this world, especially not life. All you can do is try to control the chaos or understand it as best you can. And when all else fails, just hit those buttons.

Just go and Ctrl+Alt+Del…
just breathe and reboot…
and pray that maybe…something was saved after all.

Never Underestimate The Predictability Of Stupidity

2009-07-09T00:50:00.003-04:00

When I was in love with you, I felt like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. Whenever I spoke, I saw you were really listening to me by the intense way you would watch me move and smile and respond at the correct intervals. You would touch me and it would set my soul on fire. Just being near you or hearing your voice gave me butterflies. I could not have loved anyone more…no one could possibly dominate me more completely…I was a willing slave to your every notion, emotion, and whim. You were my everything, and I was infinitely happy with that.

That was me, a million years and dozens of lifetimes ago, when I loved you.

When I was in love with you, I felt like the ugliest thing to ever walk this earth. Sometimes when I would be speaking to you, it felt as if there wasn’t anyone listening because I could finish talking and you would startle yourself when you noticed it had gone quiet. You would avoid my eyes when you spoke, your tone nonchalant and noncommittal to whatever new story you were yarning for me. Your touch could be so tentative sometimes it could almost freeze my heart. Hearing your voice or being near you would make me sick with apprehension. I could not have hated you more, sometimes…no one else had the capacity to completely negate the way you did…you never even noticed how I was beaten down by your every emotion, whim, and notion. You were my everything, and I was eternally miserable in knowing that.

That was me, eons ago on a parallel plane, when I loved you.

That was the truth of it all. I loved you then. No one, not even the wind, could deny that I loved you then. But a time came when I fell out of love with you. I couldn’t take your ambiguity anymore. I couldn’t bear living another day near you, knowing you didn’t love me back.

You were the best, worst thing that has ever happened to me. You made me beatifically ugly, responsively insignificant, positively negated, and wonderfully browbeaten. That was then. When I was stupidly in love with you.

Now that I have smartened up and don’t love you anymore, I have finally come to a conclusion. This conclusion is the only thing I really know to be true and unchanging. It is the undeniable fever that wakes me from my dreams at night. It is as penetrating and final as Juliet’s dagger to the heart.

Now that I don’t love you anymore, it has become quite clear to me that I will always be in love with you

And no one…not you, not God, not me, not even the wind…can ever begin to find way to deny me of that.

I hate that I love you that fucking much.

O happy dagger! This is thine sheath; there rust and let me die.

You complete Me

2009-05-22T01:47:00.002-04:00

Today my little brother came over to see me.

I say little, but there was nothing little about the way he filled the doorway and stairwell on his way in. There is nothing little about his personality or his talent or his aspirations or accomplishments. There is nothing little about who he is, can be, and will be. I call him my little brother, but nothing about him is little to me. He will always be seven feet tall and too wide to fit in my vision. My brother Jason...he looks down at the sky.

We talked as we always talk, about many things political and opinionated, when the conversation turned reflective and he ruminated over his life alterations with me. It's funny, as well as I know him, I am constantly learning things about my brother. There's always a new depth revealed when I see him, and I find myself in constant awe and swelling with pride that he is my brother. I feel foolish to say he surprises me, but he does...he really does. We're so alike while being so totally different. We are opposite sides of the same coin. We compliment each other so well. We have grown into more than just family, we are friends...allies...the keepers of each others' secrets. It might sound biased, but he is the best man I have ever known. He has always been the only constant in my life. Without him, there would be no me.

My little brother came to pay his big sister a visit today, and as always I am filled with renewed vigor for who I am and where I want to be.

He inspires me to be the person he has always treated me as...his big sister...the girl that looks down at the sky.

I love you, brubba...
thank you for loving me.
Thank you for always being you.

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you...won't you join the dance?

2009-05-20T02:26:00.002-04:00

I was in my mailbox, when I got a pop up saying "One Year with Swiz May 23".

It stopped me dead in my tracks.

Not one year ago...six years ago, I sat in a car with a guy I'd been crushing on since high school and confessed I'd always had a crush on him. He responded by calling me a fool and kissed me. He was taken and I was just broken up with my fiance, and in all the wrongness of that night, everything had the nerve to feel right.

He said sorry and I asked why. He said "I don't know. I guess I'm sorry that I'm not sorry to be here with you."

I gave him my heart in the kiss that followed, and when he walked away from me, with every step he took...I fell deeper in love.

Since then, he's walked away from me with my heart in his hands hundreds of times. And every time I cried and mourned him and wished him back. The last time was November, and for the first time, I didn't cry. I'd told him I loved him and he said he was sorry...sorry that I felt that way when he could do nothing but hurt me.

He took pity on me and walked away with only most of my heart that time, leaving me with small pieces that belong to me and someone else.

I deleted the calender reminder and allowed myself to cry.

I often still think of him.
I sometimes even admit that I miss him.
He still has a large part of my heart, but he no longer has my tears.
He can't have those anymore.

My tears are all my own.

Slowing down...slowing...down

2006-03-08T16:22:00.000-05:00

i have not much been in the mood for writing...for thinking...for living actually.

i have been sick since the end of december. yes...i am still sick.

my birthday was truly a day i could have lived without. i got no gifts. isn't that precious? i turned 30 man, and friends that should have called at least, merely texted me, and ones that usually text me, forgot me all togehter. i kept thinking it was all a set up...that there was a party waiting for me somewhere with all my friends...but no. no one came to visit me. no extra special anything. mandy made me some rocking brownies and her and lola took me to applebee's for dinner. i...didn't even get a cake. and...it has really changed the way i feel about alot of people and things. and sadly, no, it's not for the better.

on 3-3-06 i was called into work for a meeting on my day off and told that i was fired. 5 years. fired. no warning. just like that.

5 years.

now i am sitting here terrified of how to make the ends meet, and my mom is using this as an opportunity into scaring me back home. and it's like wow...i have had the most horrible month. i am still sick, now running from doc to doc like a mad woman before the end of the month and my benefits run out. it would help if i had some money to pay for these visits or whatnot...i am greatly tempted to turn to a life of crime. just until i can get on my feet and find another job...which will have to wait for me to get over this sickness and get some new work clothes. i have never...ever...felt so afraid, lost, or heartbroken.

speaking of hearts, adam basically lives here. comes home to me every night. i know eventually i will have to bring up the words...rent money. things have been strange between us...at least to me. he likes how we are. the old couple...no drama, no intrigue...no passion. he comes home and crawls over me and lies as far away as possible. it's like i sleep alone. we sit and we joke and chat during the day and we have fun....we do. i like being around him. i love him. but we hadn't had relations in a month. he doesn't even try to do anything. but to him, that's nothing. to me, it means something is wrong. but then, i think on it, and maybe it's just the guys that i'm used to. they cheated, and then they stopped being with me. i'm used to being pawed and manhandled, and i admit, it really upsets me when that doesn't happen. so i tried to chill about the sex thing. i kept asking him if he just wants us to be friends...he could still stay, still sleep in the bed, still everyting...but we only take the friends and lose the with perks part. he adamantly says no, he's happy the way we are, the sex will get back on track once he slows down...yadda yadda yadda. and i, being the dumbass i am, seriously believe it is because he runs the street so much. he doesn't come home til like 5 most nights. and he sleeps hard the time during the day in which he's here. i know he talks to other girls...but i still don't see him sleeping with them. so i don't know. we're just a big ole ball of confusion. but at least he comforts me, or at least tries to when i get all upset about the sickness or the job thing.

it's nice having someone around that cares.

And that's all I have to say about that.

2006-01-11T20:53:00.000-05:00

Things have been....weird.
Not good....not bad...just...weird.

Dooley and I have hit a smooth patch. We sit for hours and giggle and smile and joke and listen to music. We talk about kids, clothes, houses, and religion. He calls...he doesn't call...I'm not anxious or sad. I am happy with where we are right now. Scared shitless...but happy nonetheless.

The rest of life...well...everything seems to be on the verge of either falling apart or coming together. I am waiting to be fired. It's coming. I dread it and welcome it at the same time. I am horrified of change, but it is needed terribly. Becca and I have been thinking about going to real estate classes. It's only 300$ and it's a good fall back career. Of course, I still want to get my bartending lisence...I mean...come on. Me in a bar listening to jokes and problems and flirting with strangers? What could be better?

I don't have any money in the bank, and I think I am sick again. This damn weather keeps changing...one day warm, one day cold...warm days and cold nights...bleh. So yes, I am sick again and I have the busted lip to prove it. How.Fucking.Awesome.

My brother and his girlfriend broke up. He broke up with her. I thought they were forever, and now he's saying he may never want to have another girlfriend. It breaks my heart because I still talk to her and I know how much she loves him and is hoping for it to work out. I won't discuss their breakup, as it's not my life to divulge, but I say, to me, it seemed a necessary evil...I just thought that it would be over in a week. She had to spend new year's alone and tomorrow is her birthday. My brother and I...sometimes...are really fucked up individuals. We can really be cold. Seeing him now, and finding out that this is the same way people sometimes see me, I realize that we are fucking assholes. We're like aimless wrecking balls swinging though life. I wish I could help him...but I can't even help myself.

I may end this journal. I might not. I have been thinking about copying and closing down all but one of my online journals. I don't know which one to keep. This and His Star are the only ones I didn't hide behind fake names...but for some reason, I feel that that is exactly why I should close them and delete them. I don't know. I am feeling thin. I have these two, which have been neglected because I have my Mindsay journal that I opened to keep in touch with my pops. The Mindsay is the easiest to get to...more feedback...but I like this one better. I have to download and delete my diaryland and lj diaries for sure. They haven't been updated in a year almost.

So I guess you can say I am shooting for some closure in my life. Trying to get everything in line for the big 30 coming in (yipes) 5 weeks. I hope and I can hold onto this purpose and clarity. I hope I seriously start making some real grown up moves to establish my place in life. By this time next year, I hopefully want to have a house (or townhouse), a better paying job, and maybe working on making a baby. Still back and forth on the baby thing. I want to be a mom, but I don't know if I want to be a mom in this world.

This was kind of aimless...but really...that was the point.

We jump...hoping to God that we will be able to fly.

2005-12-27T20:36:00.000-05:00

A really good friend of mine died this weekend.

I’ve known her forever.  She was so sweet and innocent and wondrous.  The smallest thing would send her into spellbound fits of awe…the unnoticed things would send her into peals of tinkerbell laughter until tears rolled down her cheeks.  She was beautiful in the conventional sense of beautiful; sparkling eyes, bouncing ringlets, ruffled panty sets, and dresses that flew up perfectly when she twirled around.  Everyone loved her because she was a good girl…boys loving her more when she was a bad one.  She was a believer.  She could still find shapes in clouds.  She was unafraid.  She knew how to love.

They say you are only as old as you feel.  I should be a pile of dust, I feel so old.  The weariness is unyielding, like fired ice blazing in my bones.  I knew she was dying, but it was still a shock went she went…so unexpected for it to happen in such a moment.  Maybe it was the chill in the air.  Maybe it was her family pulling her apart.  Maybe she heart just could take anymore.  Maybe she was just…too…broken.

I wasn’t there when she went.  That is, I wasn’t aware of it until it was all over.  We were arguing.  She was trying to cheer me up and get me excited about the holidays, while I was drinking and smoking and cursing my empty apartment…my empty life.  She reminded me of all the Christmases past with all the gifts that would be under the tree, and the twinkle lights and the snow and the stockings and the dinners.  She talked about Christmases to come with my kids and all the wonderful things I would do.  I yelled at her then.  Loud.  I yelled there wouldn’t be any kids if I can’t even hold a man.  I said that this was the beginning of Christmases without trees and going broke for ungrateful friends and family and sitting home alone trying to drink myself back to sober.  She started to choke and cry.  I told her to fuck off.  I told her to grow the fuck up and stop acting like a little asshole.  I called her stupid and ugly and wished her to be quiet forever.

And then she was gone.

I had killed her.

That little girl in me is dead.  That dreamer, that believer, that lover…is gone.  I feel it…or…I don’t feel her anymore.  I chased her away.  I told her to go, told her I didn’t need her…so she left.  I’ve been staring out of my window at work all day, and not one shape came to mind.  I couldn’t focus on anything.  I didn’t laugh with my soul.  I can’t open my eyes all of the way.  I don’t believe in anything anymore.

A really good friend of mine died this weekend, and with everything inside of me, I wish to God I had died instead.

Because at least she…she had a chance to grow and change.
I am all out of chances.

Sometimes, I guess there just aren't enough rocks

2005-12-20T17:41:00.000-05:00

5 days til Christmas, and still no word from you.

I don't know why I love you as much as I do. I've never known why I love you like I do. We come, we crash, we merge, we fall apart, we disappear. I always feel connected to you even when there isn't anything to feel. I am always closer to you than the man I am next to. Everything and nothing compares to you a million times a day in my mind, even when you aren't on my mind. Still, you disregard me. You neglect me. You placate me. You underestimate me. You misunderstand me. You are the only person in the world that can know me as well as you do while not really knowing me at all. You think because we love each other, it excuses all the cruelties and betrayals. You think that because we love each other, we will always be together somehow. You think that because we love each other, that's all that's important.

Love, love, love...you constantly tell me you love me...right before you leave me alone.

No, I don't know why I love you as much as I do. I've never understood why I love you like I do. But I do know one thing...if things don't change, I will leave. You don't think I will...but I will. And it will be so easy to do even as it will rip my soul apart.

I am starting to see that I DO have the strength to let you go...because you don't have the courage to do what you need to make me stay. As much as you say you love me, you'll let yourself lose me because you are too afraid to let us become exactly what we have always known we could be...
the real thing.

5 days til Christmas, and still no word from you...
I guess this is something that I should get used to...

you being gone.

God...I hope I'm wrong.

It was inevitable from the moment I achieved what I always wanted...to be the knife while also being the wound.

2005-12-12T18:50:00.000-05:00

Mike reappeared on Thursday.

After his long absence and my seeming exile, I called his cell in a fit of drunkenness, and an hour later he called me back from a strange phone. Luckily, I was feeling randy and answered it, or I never would have known it was him calling from his house phone because he no longer uses the cell for anything but a phone book. He told me to save the number in my phone and to call him there from now on, and then we proceeded to have the most enlightening conversation we've ever had. He rhapsodized for over two hours about his love for music and how he felt bad because he had given up on himself with it and become lazy. I personally think he's a good musician. Not because we have sex or because I am so totally in crush mode, but because he really has a passion for it. He has the persona, you know? He moves like music...graceful or wild or unpredictable. He talks like music...heartbreaking or smooth or angry. He really is...like music to me. Dooley might be poetry, but Mike...Mike has always been my melody.

No wonder I can't seem to shake either one of them. Music and poetry are my life...they mean everything to me. How odd...I never noticed the connections before...between Dooley and Mike and music and poetry and how I associate one to the other. Dooley yes...but not Mike. Wow...my mind is spinning with revelations now.

So yes, we talked...long and endepth and heartily...and then he did this amazing thing. He mentioned Dave Matthews and I said I loved Dave Matthews...and we both said at the same time how we really liked Crash. We laughed, both surprised and almost embarrassed by our confession. He asked me to hold on, and then I heard the beginning rifs of the song pound through the receiver. I waited for Dave to sing, but then I realized it...Swiz was playing it for me on the guitar!!! I never even knew he played the guitar! We always only talked about the drums. And there he was, playing Crash to me at 2.47 in the morning over the phone. It was one of our most precious moments. We hung up eventually, and he called me babe and asked me to call him the next night. I asked if he was sure and he said yes. I said ok.

The next night I call him. I can tell he's drunk by the way he's talking...all loud and laughing and slurred. He asked who it was, I say my name. He says What's up, my nigga? I am puzzled a second, then laugh. I ask if he was drinking. He said yes. There was a bunch of noise in the background, so I ask if he had company. He said yes. Then I heard a girl asking who was on the phone and he was like Aw...I uh...gotta call you back dude. I tell him not to worry about it and hang up. I wasn't mad or anything, just curious. Obviously the girl was there for him, but...who is she? A girlfriend...or just a girl friend? Not that I care...trust me. It's never stopped us before.

Then, of course, Dooley just has to act the fuck up.

So this weekend I was feeling a bit...reflective...and maybe lonely...so I drank most of Friday, some Saturday morning, and Saturday night into Sunday morning. And what do I do when I get drunk? Well, call the man I love of course! And what does he do when I call? Why not fucking answer the phone, obviously! So yes...Friday no call no answer. Saturday no call no answer. I called maybe 11 times total. Nothing. So in drunken tears I vow that if he doesn't call in 24 hours I am fucking through because it means he can't possibly love me or want me. I know he had stuff going on with the family and all with the funeral, but he also knows that he owes me money, and since I am supposed to be the girl he fucking loves, it would be nice if he checked in on a bitch every now and again, you know? So I make my vow and light a cig and swig down the rest of my vodka to celebrate my impending liberation, and wouldn't you know, only half the cig lit. Supposedly, when that happens, it means someone loves you. I stare at the crescent cherry with blurry eyes and cursed his name. Twice.

Around 9 in the morning, through a drunken haze I hear his voice boom in my ears. I lazily answer and he sounds just as haggard. He had left his phone in Stu's car (again...that's twice in one week. Funny...with all the shit we do in my car, he's never lost his phone. And he's been half naked with me...yeah. But whatever.) and he had just gotten it back and saw I had called and was calling to check up on his favorite little boo boo. He said he just wanted to stay awake long enough to tell me what happened and that he loves me. I was pissed, but a still drunk kind of relieved pissed because I realized that the little fucker had called me. Within 24 hours. He got his stay of execution. How the fuck does he always manage that?

These things could only fucking happen to me.
Sitcom writers can't even come up with shit like this.

Olive Juice

2005-12-06T18:55:00.000-05:00

The situation, well, it came to an odd empasse. We did end up speaking, but I was drunk off my ass so I don't remember much of what I said. I called him to tell him about the insurance on the phone, but lapsed into other things while in the car with Becca. I don't remember any of that at all...not what I said, what he said, or what Becca said when I put her on the phone with him. I just remember him telling her I was on some bullshit and he was hanging up and that he loved me. I said I love you back and Becca repeated it and hung up.

When I got in the house, I called him back. I know what he said...what he always says...but I know I didn't say what I always say back. I think I mentioned kids. I think I mentioned forever. I think I mentioned leaving. But I know I confessed love. And I remember him saying the same. I begged him to stop being so callous with my emotions and to try to act like he wants me around if he wants me to stay so bad. He agreed. I asked him if he really wanted to keep this up or just go back to being friends, and he insists on us staying the way we are...that he really loves me even if he can't say he can't be commited to me right now. I told him I didn't need a commitment...I just need honesty. I'll stay as long as he wants me to as long as he's honest with me. I sat there in my bathroom, yelling at him with tears pouring down my face at 4 in the morning, wondering how I had come to that point...become that woman...and as he sleepily said he loved me and goodnight, I knew exactly how it had happened. I had given up the ghost...I had fallen in love for the first time for the second time with him. He is all I've ever really loved. I can't just let that go out of my life.

We hung up, not really resolved...never really resolved...but I felt like a weight had been lifted. He and I go round and round, faster and faster, and eventually one of us will end up falling off and banging our head on the ground, broken and bloody and sick. I guess I just need to start holding on and enjoying the ride. I say this for the millionth time, true. I guess I'm just a procrastinator at heart.

He called me a few times yesterday...not really talking about anything. I appreciated the gesture. I wound up going to see him. We sat in the car and watched the first real snow fall and he held me as I paniced about driving home in the snow. He wouldn't let me leave. We fooled around and took pictures and talked and sang and relaxed. He kissed my forehead, hugged me tight, and the next thing I know it was 3am. We looked at each other and grinned sleepily, and I told him it was ok for me to go then. He kept me there an extra hour before letting me go.

Somtimes...those times...I know he loves me. I just wish we could always be like that.

I've been staring at the pictures we took with my phone last night. Some of them are so freaking cute. One of us is now my screensaver. I was just thinking...the guys that I don't have pictures of never stay in my life. Dooley is the only boyfriend I had that I took pictures with. I have a smiling picture of us hugging sitting on my living room table from 1998. I don't even have a picture of my ex fiance', and we were going to get married. Isn't that odd? But now Dooley and I have been captured again for all eternity...trapped in smiling bliss on my screen. Maybe we can make it after all. Maybe it will all work out.

In the movie The Other Sister, their thing was saying olive juice because when they mouth it to someone across the room, it looks like they're saying I love you. I've been saying olive juice all day in my head and breaking into ridiculous smiles that make my coworkers furrow their brows at me and shake their heads.

I am so horribly, horribly smitten.
I am terrified.

Olive Juice.

He wishes for the cloths of Heaven

2005-12-03T17:42:00.000-05:00

It is so hard to do something you know you should do, but don't want to do.

I am sitting here, heartsick, mindsick, soulsick, lovesick...waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen that I know won't, which will propel me into doing what I should have done awhile ago but just couldn't seem to make myself do.

And I am hoping to be proven wrong. I am hoping that I am wrong. I am hoping that nothing is as it seems and I just need to be patient to get all I need because it is all I ever wanted...

But I never get what I want. I always get fucked up versions of my dreams coming true, which makes me doubt my stars and hold my tongue momentarily when I see them twinkling at me and beguiling me into making a wish for what I desire most...I hesitate and drown in the caution of "Careful what you wish for..."

I can't keep doing this to myself. This time, I have to make an ultimatum and stick to it. It's do or die time...even though, if I do manage to do it, it will make me want to die...so how does that really work?

I am sitting here sick, knowing that there's no saving it this time. Knowing that luck has run out and now it is down to actions...to cause and effect. I know this will leave me broken and forever changed. I know, by doing this, I am letting go of dreams...of a future I have coveted since I found out the meaning of the word covet when I was 11. I know I will be left bitter and cynical and hopeless...and I know it will be the first and last time anyone ever gets the chance to make me feel that way. I know this. I know...I will be disappointed...and I will forever fall into a million pieces just from the thought of it.

I keep telling myself I can do it, I can do it, I can do it...when my heart is screaming that I can't. I feel like I have razor blades racing through my veins...cutting me open from the inside...bleeding me out slow...killing me softly without the grace of a song. As much as I am trying to steel myself and prepare myself for what I have to do if something doesn't happen soon, I have this cold fear sitting on my lap and whispering what a fool I'm being into my ear...taunting and tempting me into indesicion.

I know tomorrow, I will have to do something that is going to change my life forever even though with everything in me, I don't want to.

This was all I ever wanted and it's killing me that my plan doesn't have plans for me.

Please...please...please...
prove me wrong.

Stay.

Happy Birthday!!!

2005-12-02T16:42:00.000-05:00

It is December.

I can't believe a year has gone by already. What have I done? What have I accomplished?
Nothing positive, so before I get even more depressed, I shall move on.

I haven't talked to Dooley since I took him to the doctor. I missed a day of work to take him to the doctor and then drop him off at the barber shop. 2 1/2 hours of together time. Wow. He thinks I'm mad, which I was a little bit at first, so he won't call me. It's the not calling me that has me pissed off. He knows he was fucked up, knows it hurt my feelings, and instead of calling to try to smooth things over, he just lets them fester. He always does this. And unlike usual, I haven't caved and called him. Maybe this is how it ends...quietly falling apart...just like the first time.

Speaking of falling apart, my period is here like 10 days early. I couldn't figure out why I was so moody and weepy and irritable and then yesterday I go to the bathroom and SURPRISE!!! You have just been chosen to get your period!! Thea...what will you do now?!? Well...I'm going to cry a lot...I love that...and then I am going to crave beef so bad that I'll dream about biting baby cows...and oh yes...I will be hornier than a mother fucker with nothing to do about it!!! YAY!!!!

It's so weird, when Dooley came over, for some reason we lapsed into talking about baby names. I told him I like the name Yara and he went through all these other names and I just said no and argued over them. It took us a second before we realized how stupid the whole thing was. We fell quiet and I thought about how wonderfully awful it would be if I was pregnant. Does he even think about that? Does he want that? Sometimes, I think he does. But then, most times, I think he just wants me to go away. I don't know anything about us, except that we hurt me...and he doesn't seem to care enough to even pretend to care anymore. What an asshole. Both of us...what fucking assholes.

And tis the season to spend all your cash of gifts for ungrateful jerk offs so you don't look like a bitch when they give you the present they grifted from the dollar store for you. I hate that. I hate that I put so much money and thought into my gifts even though I know my friends (some)and family give me cheap crap I won't like. Or nothing at all. I don't give gifts to get anything. I like it. It's like my payback for being such a moody bitch all year. Sorry for being so spastic all the time. Here's a $200 pair of boots. Please love me. But I would rather get nothing than something I can tell they didn't put any thought or effort into. They might is well just tell me I'm worthless to them and get it over with.

I love Christmas, but I am just not feeling it this year. Maybe after I watch the Christmas cartoon classics marathon this weekend, I'll get in the groove.

I don't know what my problem is right now.

I need a hug.

Everything is in flux

2005-11-28T20:03:00.000-05:00

Strange things have been happening.  Strange things, indeed.

Saturday night was quite lovely.
I went to see Dooley and we talked about a lot of things.  Finally, he gave reason for not wanting to title our relationship.  Mainly, it boils down to greed…and fear.  Greed because he knows he can’t be faithful right now, and fear because he doesn’t want to do anything to lose me.  I argued with him about it, but in the end I just sighed and dropped it.  He doesn’t see my point, and I don’t accept his.  He thinks of me and relationships in the conventional way, and I don’t see anything working in any relationship that’s conventional, but he doesn’t understand that.  I think my problem is that I think like a man.  I take the emotional aspect out of things and just pinpoint what makes the most sense to me.  It seems wrong, but I really don’t expect any man to ever be faithful.  I don’t see it as a lack of love when I guy cheats, it’s just sex.  I totally understand how the two can be differentiated.  I told him this and he looked at me like I was crazy.  He asked me what woman actually enters in a relationship expecting to be cheated on, and I just made a face and raised my hand.  He said I was nut and deserved better than that.  I said it’s the only way I know to think.  Not saying all men cheat, but saying that women are fools if they really think it can never happen.  We moved away from that subject after I told him I was going out on a date this weekend since that was what he wanted for me.  It was awesome watching his face shift from emotion to emotion before he caught himself and said he hoped I’d have fun.  I smiled at him and he couldn’t look at me.  He doesn’t want a commitment, then fine.  I respect him for at least being honest with me as to why he doesn’t want to do it, I’m just angry at the fact that he really thinks we can just keep it like this forever.  He knows as long as I am with him, I won’t really get into anyone else (nor would he let me), but as long as we don’t give it a title, he can do whatever he wants.  It’ll grow old though, eventually.  I already see me working on him.  He’ll be broken down soon enough and make it official…or I’ll get bored soon enough and just leave him alone.  Fucked up how either way that works out, it will be for the best.  I do hope it will be the former, though…because in spite of everything, I am in love with him.

So yes, we talked, drank a bit, and fooled around like horny teenagers.  It was all good fun.

Then this morning, Becca called me all hysterical.  An oil truck had lost control and plowed into the landlord’s truck before ramming into and then onto her car.  The cars were parked, thank goodness, and she wasn’t hurt…physically…but mentally…damn…she took one hell of a hit.  The car isn’t even 2 years old.  She doesn’t even pay for it, someone else does.  And it is totaled.  Gone…completely fucked up.  I would fucking lose it if something like that happened to my car!  I mean, I lost it when I was in the accident and now I have the outline of a license plate on my bumper.  I couldn’t imagine coming out of my house to see a damn truck sitting on the back of my car!!
So of course I went to see her.  When I was in my accident, I didn’t even ask Becca to come.  She had heard me scream, I said I was in an accident and I’d call her back, and before I knew it, she was calling me back and asking where it was and saying she was on her way.  She left work to come and make sure I was alright.  So hell yeah I went to take her a pack of cigs.  She could have asked me to come over to tie her shoe and I would have gone.  Screw work.  She needed me.  I sat while she talked to the insurance company and then the oil company and then the oil company’s insurance company. They set it up for her to get a rental car right away, so instead of making her wait, I took her to the place and she got a sweet ride and then I came into work.  I got a few looks for being late, but I really don’t care.  Becca needed someone to be there.  She’s had such a hard time with everything, and sometimes it seems like she is alone in everything.  Not that I pity her and that’s why I went…I went because she’s my friend. She’s always been there for me, she needed me, and I love her.   I hope everything will work out her.  I think she has a case, but with Jersey law, I don’t know if it will happen.

Every time the world starts to tip right side up for me, it dips low for someone I care about…knocking me right back off balance.

The saying is right:  Everything is in flux; nothing is ever still.
Ain’t that the truth?

Well, that's just you all over!

2005-11-25T17:19:00.000-05:00

I have the holiday blues.

I went to see Dooley as reqested the other day, and was surprised to see another girl already there. He was surprised the girl just popped up and got dropped off without calling first. It hurt a little bit, but then it was amusing to me, when I saw he got upset that I wasn't more upset. I haven't talked to him. He won't call me. I think he's mad at me because he got caught with another girl...but we're not a couple so he didn't really get caught...and I didn't flip out like he expected...but again, we're not a couple, so what place would I have in flipping out?

What the fuck?

I think that might have been the thing to break us. I don't believe we'll be dealing with each other anymore. I feel this with regret and relief. Love shouldn't be like this. Nothing should be like this.

The dinner yesterday went from ok, to tedious, to sucking ass pretty quickly. Me and mother are like frightened sparring partners, seriously. Awlays dipping and dodging, but never actually coming at each other to make contact. She sat there and sniped at me once before going to fawn over my brother, and I was done. Every time I asked her something, she acted like it was such an issue to answer, so I stopped talking. I was willing to try, because I have been reclusive and surly towards her lately, and I wanted to make nice with Nanna's death and all. But now? Nevermind. I don't need the aggrivation, and seriously, she has no fucking right getting all snitty with me after the shit she's done to me. If I have an attitude, she needs to swallow it, because she deserves it. It took me 28 years to stand up to her, and she has a problem with that. Because I'm not falling all over myself because NOW she wants to act like a mom, I'M fucking wrong. Whatever.

But the worst came when Brandy showed up. She's a friend of the family...younger than me...who just resurfaced in my mom's life after years of absense. I get up from the table so she can sit down to eat, and while I sat away from everyone, I felt it. The distance. The coldness. My mom sat there and joked with her and laughed and had secrets. She talked about birthdays and presents and boyfriends. And I was like...wow. If my mom had just attempted something like that when I was Brandy's age, I would have been happy. It would be different. But no. She never did. She's been punishing me for having the nerve to be born 29 years ago. She hates that I'm the talented version of her, and I hate that she's the popular version of me. I looked at this girl and my mother sitting close and smiling, and something snapped inside. Resolution broke free. Fuck all, I'm not even going to pretend to try anymore. I don't care anymore. My dad left me years ago, she's never been much of a mother to me...so fuck them both. All I need is Jay. It's always been me and him anyway. I don't have parents, then. I have two strangers that gave me life and have been trying to forget about it all of my life...who managed to fuck me up royally along the way. This is why dysfuntional relationships work for me. This is why I deal with friends that fuck me over. That is all I know. That is my idea of love...that it doesn't leave. I'll stay forever if I love someone...no matter how bad they make my life.

It's warped and destructive and hurtful and demeaning. It's love.

Hello, holiday blues...come on in...I have been waiting.

Dude, you're in love with your sister and I'm the one that's wrong?

2005-11-23T18:35:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone has a lovely holiday.

May your hearts get as full as your bellies...

and may it be a day of war and peace and love.

Always, always...I wish you love.

We did it...we did it...oh yeah, yeah, yeah!!

2005-11-22T21:59:00.000-05:00

How does one over come Love Sickness? I know the cure to motion sickness is to keep moving, so is the cure to love sickness to keep loving? That doesn't seem right to me. There has to be a better way to cure this ache other than making myself ache more.

I was trying to wake up this morning, and instead of crawling out of bed, I sank deeper beneath the sheets and inhaled deep. They still strongly smell like him from when he came to surprise me the other morning. He came, laid next to me, and fell on to sleep. And my sheets are now infused with his scent.

They say scent is the strongest trigger to memories, and memories are linked to things that affect us most...like hate, fear, and love. I notice, that after I am with him, I smell like him for days and days. I notice that my usual scent has been replaced, and though it always takes me a second, I remember that the smell is his. The taste on my lips is his lips...the smell of my sweat is his musk. Maybe that's why we love the people we love. We get infiltrated by their essence, and without knowing it, we are constantly breathing them in...constantly linking to memories of their faces and words and touch. Their smell becomes our smell, which makes our memories blend with memories of them...thus making dreams and hopes that used to be solitary into binary conceptions that include them. Because you are no longer a "you", you are now an "us". Tricky things, those pheromones. Deceptive little markers our lovers leave on our bodies so all of our thoughts can be tracked to them.

Love is just a state of mind created by the memory of a smell.

Try to notice it next time. Next time you are with your hunnie, try to recognize their scent. Not their perfume or colonge, but their most private, primal scent. And then pay attention to how many times you smell that stray scent in the air when you are apart. I dare you. I know I am not alone, I'm just the only one crazy enough to notice it. Maybe be realizing the origin of love sickness, we can fight it off...create antibodies to ward off the swoons, yearning, and daydreaming. Be Pavlovian and develop a negative reinforcement every time we notice that smell, so we don't fall too deep, you see...so we can remain...in control.

Though, the more I think about it, the more amazing it is...blending your essence with someone else's. It's kinda like your souls are constantly copulating, like your hearts are tightly linked. You are in love before you even know you are in love. You are already out of control.

Maybe there's no way to cure it, after all. You just have to keep falling into it, through it, and for it...until you fall out of it.

Damn.

This is the revolution of the sun

2005-11-22T20:44:00.000-05:00

**SMILE**

Contagious...ain't it?

Red pill or blue pill?

2005-11-21T22:02:00.000-05:00

I am feeling a little scattered right now.
Not like I usually feel all together.
Actually, I’m usually more scattered than this.
I guess I’m just not used to having it this together.

My sister came to stay with me this weekend. It’s a totally different ball game…being a big sister to a girl instead of a boy. I’ve always had my brothers there. First one, then three, then two…now basically one with the occasional side brother. I never see my youngest brother, but I live with my blood brother that always sees the youngest at the studio. Sometimes I feel left out, but then…I’m glad I don’t see Damitri as much. Not because I don’t want to be around, but because I can’t be around him. He breaks my heart.

So when my little step sister, whom I haven’t seen in years, decided to start calling me and chatting me up, I was quite surprised. She calls me and tells me what’s going on in her life…asks me advice about things…you know, girl stuff. Which I am more than capable of handling, trust me. But when I saw her, I wasn’t prepared for how big she’d be. I didn’t think she’d be a geek that loves to read, like me. I expected her to be a little loud and out of control, but she was quiet and reserved and kind of a little lady. Yeah, I didn’t expect that. Nor did I expect her to be into boys. I had to keep reminding myself, she’s 16 going on 17…not 11 going on 12. She made a comment about me treating her like a kid, that I was supposed to understand being the older and all. It was then I realized, damn, I have a little sister. I’m going to be the one she tells about boys and asks about sex. I am going to be the one that she’s going to run to when she needs to get away from home. I gave her a bunch of sprays and lotions and her first purse…I gave her hair tips, for jebus cripes…I am officially the cool older sister. It’s not as fun as I thought it’d be. Now I have to be nosey and find out exactly what’s she’s doing with boys. I have to pass on my skills of the game…again. I have to watch her wardrobe and her hair and teach her the little bit of feminine tricks I have. I’m not sure if I want that. That means that I have to be on top of my game again. I’m used to being a slacker, a tomboy, a slouch with guys. I haven’t been macking in awhile. What if I lead her wrong? Or…what if she…gets better than me?

Well…besides that panic, it was nice being with my little sister.

And today, my mind is all over the place. Dooley calling this morning set it off. I was so not expecting him to call. But at least now, I do not want to call him, so I should have my fix until Friday…when I will call him again.

How’s that for control?

But I keep seeing his face, tasting his scent, thinking about the little things. I keep hearing the way he calls me Beloved in that nonchalant, condescending, endearing way. The way his voice drops when he says I love you before hangs up the phone. The way his smile eats his eyes when we say something funny. The way he kisses me with his eyes open so he can watch me kiss him with my eyes closed. The merciless banter we effortlessly toss back and forth. The little noise he makes when I kiss his neck. The way we look at each other at the same time when we are thinking mischievous things. The cute way his voice slurs when he’s fighting sleep. The way he rubs my back when I lay in his arms. The way he grins when I tell him I love him. The sincerity in his voice when he tells me he never wants me to go away. All these little things. Little clicks, little nuances, little idiosyncrasies that make up the ways and reasons I adore him so much. I can’t stop daydreaming about the little things…and my heart aches and I miss him so much…but I refuse to call him or go see him unless he asks me to come because that is the way we have to be right now. I wonder if he misses me or the little things, too. I wonder what little things he likes about me. I wish he would call right now just so I could hear him say my name and I could whisper I love you and hang up.
That seems a bit psycho, but I am totally happy with that. Little stupid things that mean nothing to anyone else in the world, but to me, it means love.

And I had a stray thought about the sperm donor this morning. I remembered the first time I ever drew anything substantial. He had taught me how to draw one of those dimensional pictures…you know…so it looks like a hallway getting smaller and smaller. He gave me the ruler and the pencil and he sat with me and showed me how to draw it and shade it in, and when I was done, it was the most amazing thing to me. It looked like it moved. And I fell in love with art. I also thought about a painting he used to have hanging up of a half lion, half man warrior, shackled to a half naked woman warrior leaning on this huge sword. He loved that freaky picture, and thus began my fascination with half naked women, swords, and obscurity. Little quirks that make me…me. And he helped develop those. I guess I can’t ever say he never gave me anything but a hard lesson. He gave me my originality…he made it ok for me to be…weird. Too bad he’s such an asshole now. We could probably talk about a great many things.

And I’ve been thinking about death. How all of my little old ladies are gone now. I don’t have anymore old church ladies to call up and listen to them regale the good old days. Now they’re just my angels, my guardians. Lillian, whom, has been around the longest…and I’m not sure but I think she’s the sperm donor’s mom. At least I think her name is Lillian. I never could hear it right…everything else she told me, yes…but never her name. I just know it’s musical and sounds something like Lillian, so I think of her as Lillian. Then there’s my Nanny, my Natalie, my Marcey, my Gibby, and now my Lula. Why they loved me so in life and chose to look out for me in death, I’ll never know. But I’ll forever be grateful. Whenever I’m low, I can feel them with me, and it doesn’t seem so bad. I wish I had had a kid young just so it could have met at least a couple of them. that would have been so wonderful. They would have loved it so much.

I told you I was feeling scattered. None of this crap even makes any sense.
It’s just the flotsam of my mind.

...sing thee to thine rest.

2005-11-18T17:41:00.000-05:00

My nanna died this morning.

She is finally at peace.

Goodbye, my angel.

Be free.

May flights of Angels...

2005-11-15T19:26:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, my mom called me to tell me Nanna Lu was in the hospital. I called Nanna Lu and she sounded all chipper and happy to hear from me. She never remembers my name. To her, I’m Lela, or at least that’s who I was last time she talked to mom, telling her “Lela called me…she’s such a sweet girl.”

Today I called over to Ms. Yvette’s place. Nanna Lu was sent home from the hospital a few days ago. They have her on morphine. She is in a lot of pain. She can’t talk anymore. My mom held the phone to her ear and I said, “Hey Nanna…it’s Lela…I love you.” My mom said she crinkled her forehead, indicating she heard me. Those will more than likely be my last words to her.

Nanna Lu is dying.

Ms. Lu, no more than 5’2 but bigger than the sun, will soon be gone from here forever.

I can’t say that I have interacted with Nanna a whole lot. I’ve been around her place a few times and we talked on the phone and things like that, but I wouldn’t say that we were close in the conventional way of being close. She is just one of those people that effect me, you know? People that you interact with and instantly have a soft spot for in your heart. She is so tiny and fragile, but her tongue can be sharp and surprising, twisting your face from a respectful smile to a mischievous smirk, especially when she would remark candidly about someone near by. But I can tell you exactly when she totally won my heart. I had picked her up from her house to bring her to my mom’s for a barbeque. She looked ridiculously adorable in her blue dress and hat, her gloved hands clutching her purse as she sank into the passenger seat of my huge 1981 Buick. She chatted idly as I drove, remarking on how fast I was driving and how she liked to go fast but everyone drove her so slow, so I sped up. Then she totally shocked me when she started softly singing along to the radio. The song? Where My Dogs At by DMX. This little old lady that was swallowed in my seat was bopping her head and saying the words to a rap song. She told me to turn it up. I did and she smiled so big her cheeks eclipsed her eyes. And I…I fell in love.

She’s always been so sweet to me, though I’m never sure if she even remembers me half the time. She always talks to me like we just saw each the other day. She always tells me how beautiful my mom is and what a dear I am for checking in on her. She ‘s the last of my little old lady crew.

And she’s dying.

She’s dying and I can’t find it in me to go and see her like that. I don’t want to remember her like that. I want to always see her in her little hat and gloves, just as precious as can be, putting her family in their place with the click of her tongue. I want to remember her in her yard, smiling and waving under trees near the house. I want her to be that bouncy, vibrant, lovely little pixie in my head forever. I don’t want to see her so sick and quiet. I don’t want to chance her possibly seeing the sorrow on my face or hear me cry. I don’t want to say goodbye.

I love Nanna Lu, as much as I can love anyone as impossible as that might sound. Just knowing that soon this world will be void of her vibrance breaks my heart utterly…totally…completely. Nothing will be the same, and no one will ever know why. But I will, because I got it, you know? I understood. I know what she is. I was touched by her greatness. She is made with the stuff of stars and light. She’s one of a kind.

Ms. Lula, the last of my little old lady crew, the envy of angels everywhere.

Nanna Lu, no more than 5’2 but bigger than the sun, will soon be gone from here forever.

And I will miss her always.

A heart will never be practical until it can be made unbreakable

2005-11-14T19:42:00.000-05:00

He was supposed to come and see me this morning…

Saturday night, we sat in my car and talked about various things in his life, and I saw him…the boy I fell in love with…all sweet, vulnerable, and full of fire and dreams. I saw him and never felt closer to him, never loved him more than when his eyes pooled with tears when he told me stories about his Nanna. Later, we made out like foolish teenagers…half naked in the front seat of my car and totally not caring about who could see what. He kissed me hard, pulled my hair, called me his bitch, and told me he loved me. He kissed me soft, caressed my face, called me Beloved, and whispered he hated me. Afterward, sated and sleepy, he told me he never plans on letting me go and I was special to him. He said we were bound by ties beyond titles and he would always love me. I turned from him and cried. Not from happiness but from sadness…because I knew…one day…we would be over. One day, I might find out this is all a lie. And how could ever recover or love again after something like that?

But instead of saying anything, I cuddled close, vowed to love him forever, and dozed him in arms while my car warmed up so I could drive home.

I washed his clothes yesterday. I called him twice and he didn’t answer. I didn’t cry.

He was supposed to come see me this morning…

He was going to stop by with his cousin on their way home and we were going to play bad cop and the hooker. I had taken out my clear heels and lace cheekies yesterday, and they were waiting for me to put them on. I woke up at 6am, and I knew he wouldn’t be coming. I went back to sleep.

I woke up later and called him, waking him and telling him I was bringing his clothes by. I said I could just leave them on the porch and he insisted on seeing me. I pulled up, stood there waiting for 5 minutes, and then out he came in all his glory…his jean shorts and wife beater on…and my heart constricted. He really was beautiful. He greeted me with a hello gorgeous. We sat and chatted, but he had a call…and at the last second I blurted out I needed to talk to him about something. He wasn’t coming back after the call so I had to say it. I wanted him to block me from his phone. He just looked at me and said no before walking away. I called after him and again he said no…I asked why and he just said no and told me to give him a kiss. I walked over and kissed him angrily, and he again said no, not doing it…call me when you get to work.

I’m not sure why it came out that way. I want him to block me so I can’t call him…because I can’t leave him. Because I am weak. Because I always call him and most of the time he doesn’t answer, and even then, he doesn’t call back…and then I’m hurting…wondering what the fuck he’s doing or who he’s talking to…thinking about which bitch is more important than I am. I want him to block me from calling so my feelings won’t get hurt and eventually, I won’t want to call him. I want it so I can’t call him…to see…how much he needs me. It’s asinine and childish, but I don’t care. I need to know I mean something to him. I want him to come after me for once.

I called him when I got to work and we talked. I asked him again and he just said no. After I kept asking why he just said that in case of an emergency. Then he said he didn’t know how to do it. Then he said he didn’t want to do it. Then he just went back to no. I told him why, and I told him some of how I felt, and he apologized and said it wasn’t like that, that he would try harder to be more considerate, that we felt the same way, but I am just more affectionate than he is. I didn’t want to argue. The conversation isn’t over, but we pretended that it was…to him it is. To me…if he doesn’t start proving he loves me as much as he says he does…then I’ll just have to find a way to delete him. I will have to forget his number and address and fill my mind with horrible things to scare me into never wanting to go there again. I will have to block him from my heart and mind…and sadly, I think I have already started down that road.

I don’t even want to give us a chance anymore.
I just want him to leave me now instead of later when it will hurt a millions times more.
I am so fucked up.

She dreams beautiful and smiles

2005-11-11T20:02:00.000-05:00

Nobody believes me when I tell them I am an extremely easy person to please.

Example?

I drive out of my way to take some games, a toothbrush, and some McD's to my baby...just to stand out on a corner with him for an hour while he tells me nonsensical stories, picking on my clothes, height, and nose hair, while giving me his sex look before breaking into grins...making me an hour late for work.

Sounds like a bunch of bullshit, don't it? So what's the pay off?

Me realizing that he keeps talking because he doesn't want me to go, seeing that he means it when he tells me he loves me in his eyes, and the smile that lights up his soul when he sees me wearing the ring.

Just seeing him smile and being near him made me deliriously happy.

I think it's a very good thing he doesn't know that.

People come and go so strangely here!

2005-11-07T20:34:00.000-05:00

It sucks when someone turns out to be someone you hoped that they weren't.

When you call someone a friend and they betray you or when you call someone your love and they leave you, no matter how tough or smart you might think you are, there's nothing you can do to quell the sting that gives you.

You try to tell yourself that it all happens for a reason. You try to find the lesson learned or the freedom gained by their absence. You don't want to allow yourself to feel the loss or be overcome by the bitterness. You try to forget it all. You try to move on. You try to forgive...yourself.

Somewhere inside, you know you have to let them go. You have to admit that you were duped and you admired and loved a lie. You have to hate them. You have to look at them with venom in your stare and think of them with spite. You have to think of ways to flaunt your life without them in front of them. You have to show them they didn't destroy you. You have to make yourself fetching and giddy and exciting so they will be jealous. You have to find secret ways to fuck them up so you can openly smile innocence in their face. You have to fucking win.

They said love. They said friend. They said trust. They said dream. They said together. They said forever.

Well they said lies.

And even with all of the hate and contempt, you know you still love them because you never lied. The pinkie swears, the long conversations, the kisses, the hugs, the promises, the secrets, the fights, the make ups, the inside jokes, the heartaches, the tears, the dreams...they were all real to you. You meant everything you said. You bore your real soul. You let them inside. You loved them...you needed them...you appreciated them...and you want them still. It's nothing you can help. It's just your nature. You don't know how to let go of something that was everything to you. And if they were to give you a logical explaination, you would take them back in a second.

You wouldn't forget, but you'd forgive...because you love them and need them...

...and so you can lord it over them whenever you want.

Because you loved them and they fucked you and now you have to always keep them close to make them pay for it without them suspecting you of trechery. You want them to hurt. You want to see it. You want to feel it. You want to then fix it for them. You want them to really love you. You want them to always know how you felt when they hurt you.

You want to fucking win, no matter what.

It sucks when someone turns out to be someone you hoped that they weren't.

Especially when that someone...is you.

There's no such thing as snosberries!

2005-11-04T20:44:00.000-05:00

I have been writing poetry again. I have this site I go to and write and people comment. I get such lovely comments. I love it. Now everything is a poem in my head. I'm constantly thinking in rhythm and rhyme. Mainly I think in haiku prose. It really simplifies your problems to think in 5-7-5 style. I wish I had known that years ago.

I have also been coloring. Not sketching, learning how to draw with pastels. It's really fun. I really enjoy the blending and smoothing with my fingers. It's fantastic therapy.

I don't know if it's the weather or the writing and coloring, but I have been in a good mood.

Tonight, I went to the mall and got the new Fiona, Miri Ben Ari, and the best of Busta Rhymes cds. Wow...great music. I am here bopping away at work and I'm not as agitated, even though the crimson wave came and surprised me a few hours ago and I'm crampy. But, I've never been happier to see it. For...uh...a few reasons.

Speaking of reasons, I saw Dooley again this morning. I'm taking him to the doctor on Tuesday for his sleeping disorder. We'll be together all day. I'm looking forward to it. He might come stay with me when his time is done. I don't know. He is so full of shit, you know.

But I love him, you know?

I just can't help it.

Damn.

My butt's asleep and I'm starting to get into it...

2005-11-02T21:34:00.000-05:00

Life...has been boring. The same blahness blending in from day to day.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, Dooley calls me in the morning while he was at probation and we talk on the phone for like almost an hour. It was a pleasant conversation and I can honestly say I was pleased to hear from him. But then, I am always pleased to talk to my Puppy...no matter how much I might hate him at the moment. We made plans to get together and he was going to come see me and go with me to the laundry mat. He was also going to bring his stuff and stay with me for a little while. Not as a couple, sheerly as me giving him a nice place to crash. It was a big change. A big step. We were being very grown up. It was scary.

He then called again that afternoon and we talked about what happened at probation. They want to put him in a bracelet, meaning he will have to be in the house from 6pm to 6am...no excuses. So he couldn't come stay with me, which was fine. He also said he wouldn't be able to make it to do the laundry and he was sorry and he loved me. In the middle of talking, his phone died.

I tried to call him a few times, but it went to voicemail, so I finally gave up. I was bitter I couldn't see him, but not destroyed. I went and did laundry and went on home.

3 in the morning, his voice his calling me from the walkie talkie on my phone. I answer. He's around the corner. He's coming by. He wants to be with me. Before I could finish my cig, he was there. Before I could exhale, he was kissing me. Before I could say hello, he was inside of me. It turned me on.

We laid and talked. He dozed, woke up, and we did it again. We talked while locked in an embrace and fell asleep. We woke up this morning, talked, and did it again. I drove him home and we sat outside talking. Always...always so easy to talk to him...always entertaining.

I was loathe to leave him. I didn't want it to end. But it did. It had to. It always has to.

We wouldn't be who we are if it was any different.

If you want to view paradise...

2005-10-27T21:07:00.000-04:00

There is nothing more brilliant or moving than the sight of an autumn skyline in the beginnings of sunset. I sat staring out of my window at work completely enraptured as that crisp bright blue started to tinge into tints of pink and lavender while the leaves on the trees blazed in shades of red, orange, yellow, and green when the last rays of the sun kissed them softly. I was filled with such reverence…such hope…and briefly…happiness. Nothing was wrong in my world. There wasn’t any pain in my heart. Everything was colored with poetry. All…was love.

I was loathe to turn away and gaze at my glaring screen.

I wish that moment could have lasted forever…
but the beautiful ones never do.

Where is fancy bread...in the heart or in the head?

2005-10-24T21:27:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wonder why I’m not close with my family.  I live close to all the cousins I grew up with, but I can never find it in my heart to want to go see them and that makes me feel bad.  I mean, these are the only people I have a shared childhood with since I moved around too much to have any childhood friends for long.  We share blood and history.  They are all I have and they all have kids that are getting older that I barely know and it hurts.

But this weekend, I remembered why I don’t like being around them.

I went to my aunt’s house to celebrate my cousin, Pearl.  Her sister has come up with the bright idea that we should celebrate one person each month, as a way of all of us getting together.  Sounds…cute…but it’s really freaking stupid.  It was mainly kids running around all willy-nilly while others stuffed their faces and chatted.  I don’t like eating around my family.  I don’t like eating around anyone really, but I especially hate eating around them.  So I sat off quietly to the side watching, when my cousin Fred starts messing around and play wrestling with me.  No big deal.  But he pulls my arms and starts to act like he’s pulling me up and can’t.  Snickers from a few others ensue.  Then he puts his arms around me and acts like he’s trying to pick me up but can’t.  All out laughter erupts.  I push him away from me and sit back with the tears hot in my eyes, cursing myself for coming.  Then I hate myself because at that moment, I really wanted to cry.

It only got worse when Pearl came and sat in the queen chair and we were all supposed to tell stories about her.  Somehow, one story contained me and then there came more stories about me…all of them somehow making me out as a joke…the punch line.  I sat there half smiling as they laughed at embarrassing stories about me, all of them having something to do with my weight so that at least one person could make a smart ass remark “under their breath”.  My face was blazing.  I’m fucking 29 years old and my cousins still know how to make me cry.  How fucking awesome.

The worse part is that I don’t think they do it to be malicious; they just do it because that’s what they do.  They pick on each other, but it just seems like when they pick on me…it’s hurtful.  You would think they are all beautiful, svelte, super people but they’re not.  You would think they never got picked on, but they did.  You would think they wouldn’t say anything to me to hurt me since I never want to be around them, but they do.  I am and always will be nothing but the fat butt of their jokes.  It will never matter what I accomplish or what I know, I will always be fat ass Thea that couldn’t climb on the gate when the dog would chase us down the street.  I will always be the one that got her crushes stolen from her and everyone used to laugh at.  I am the one without kids or any boyfriends that they have met.  I will always be a laughing stock to them.  Built for their amusement.

And that shit hurts.  I sat there, pretending not to hear the innuendos and smart remarks like I always do.  I felt my lungs fill with liquid and the room blurred and every noise became nothing more than echoes as I sat there trying not to cry and resisting the urge to get up and storm out of the room because that would have just filled the room with more laughter and I would have wanted to kill myself.  The few times I have thought of death, it was always haunted by reasons like that…being a fucking joke.  I cannot bear knowing that I am the brunt of someone’s joke.  That’s worse than being abandoned, dumped, or pitied.  Being laughed at…made to feel stupid and insignificant…that’s worse than death to me…and I sat there clawing the insides of my wrists wishing to everything that was holy I had something sharp enough to cut through that skin and bleed out slow and all over their fucking baby blue couch.

I drove home blinded by tears, stopping by a local bar to use up the few dollars I had on a couple of drinks but that made me feel even worse because I looked like shit and I could feel people’s eyes on me, mocking me, as they grinned and whispered smart shit to their friends sitting next to them.  I almost clapped my hands over my ears and broke down, but instead I rushed out of there, my face amazingly red after I bumped into someone and dropped my wallet, causing all my change to scatter across the floor.

When I got home, I laid down and cried like a little bitch.  There was so much pain, so many memories…so many things that I had forgotten were connected to these people.  Why I don’t like to eat in public, why I don’t like malls, why I walk with my head down, why I rush to make the joke about myself before someone else can…why I feel invisible unless I am doing something stupid, then of course the whole world can fucking see me.  I’m always afraid someone will take the men I like away from me because they used to do it to me all the time.  Tell stories about me…make fun of me around people.  I hated my childhood and I hated my family growing up except for Pearl, and even she managed to make me miserable sometimes since she managed to finagle a few of my biggest crushes from under my shy, slow moving nose.  I laid there and cried and cried because I really don’t have too many happy memories. Between my fucked up family and being an outcast in school it’s a wonder I didn’t slash my throat open a long time ago.  I drank most of yesterday marveling at how much I hate myself, because I hate myself so much…so, so much.  Sometimes I forget why I hate myself and wonder why it’s so hard for me to act otherwise, and then something like this happens and it all comes back.

I can’t and don’t blame these people for my unhappiness.  My unhappiness is my fault.  I am the only one that can change that.  My demons are my own making.

It would help, however, if they weren’t always on the sidelines cheering the demons on.

Fuck supposed to...you make it up as you go along.

2005-10-20T22:04:00.000-04:00

Last night…

last night…I

last night…I fell in love…

again.

He came over, a soft blur of buttery chocolate skin and dark exotic eyes towering over me as I struggled to stand still and slow my heart down. I was so nervous. He smiled at me and I half smiled back before being yanked into his arms and pummeled with kisses while he held a handful of my hair. He kissed and kissed and kissed…hard and urgent…and I smiled against his mouth and bit his lower lip. He moved and smiled against my ear, hesitating and then exhaling, I love you, I love you, I love you. I giggled and hugged him closer.

We stood there, embracing in the quiet of my room, his heart racing just as mine was. He trembled when I kissed his neck and leaned my head on his shoulder and looked adoringly at his face. I love you, too I sighed. His face relaxed and his eyes closed and his heart started to slow down. How afraid he had been of my reply. How afraid he was of me. I marveled at this as he buried his face in my hair and clutched me tight. How afraid we both are of each other. Of loving each other. How afraid and foolish we are, when we both know that maybe we should just leave each other and just be friends.

But oh…with all of the mistakes and fear and doubt…there is love…and so much hope that maybe our love can survive where everything else has been destroyed.

I saw that in his boyish eyes. I saw the fear and the hope that I still loved him. I saw the relief on his face when I told him I did. And then it happened…like wham!! I was freefalling and giddy and scared shitless as the tears threatened my eyes. I reached my arms up and around his neck, my face tight against his. I knew it then. I felt it then.

I love this man….
and I will probably love him for the rest of my life…
no matter how imperfect and stupid that love might be.

I don’t think I would love him as much if it was anyway.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dreams

2005-10-17T20:09:00.000-04:00

It was a beautiful weekend. Colorful, sunny, blustery…the cool crispness of fall eradicating what was left of any thoughts of summer.

God I love this time of year.

It’s like I have a new energy. I don’t feel as weary as I have been feeling for the past few weeks, and it shows in the way I talk, walk, and smile. Even the Man Situation is starting to pall a bit. Sure, it’s still confusing, frustrating, and heartbreaking…but it’s becoming more bearable. And that is a blessing. I still have trouble sleeping, though. I still lie there and think about his lips, his touch, and his words and I swoon and sigh so hard it could crack my ribs, but…I’m not falling to pieces. Maybe a few tears. But no sobbing. No moaning. No weary widow act. I just lie there, think of him and what could have been…what should be…and maybe drop a tear or two before fading into dreams.

I am feeling better.

I just hope this can last for a few more days.

Legends of the fall

2005-10-14T17:28:00.000-04:00

It keeps raining.

Now I, personally, have always loved the rain.  Walking in it, sitting in it, watching it from a window…I am a rain freak.  But all of this rain is really disturbing me.  It’s romantic and annoying, making me mooney and agitated.

  I hate driving in it…hate getting wet when going to work everyday…hate how it makes the days drag and the world looks so dark and dreary from the windows.  At night I hate laying there alone and watching it from my window, wishing someone could be there watching it with me and keeping me warm.  The constant drip keeps me awake and just keeps me sad longer, instead of giving me the release of dreams.

And it’s messing my favorite time of the year!!  It’s time for the leaves to start changing, but instead of bursting into those beautiful brilliant colors, they are just turning a faded brown and falling to the ground.

Where’s my piles of leaves I can kick when walking along?  Where’s the scent of some kind of spiced drink wafting in the air?  Where is my slightly chilly blinding beauty?  I can’t lose that!  I look forward to this all year…the changing and falling of the leaves.  It’s a beautiful sadness.  It fills me with…hope…and love.  I really need that right now.

So quit it, rain.  Stop fucking up my program.  I’m a fan and all but really…enough is enough.

Just go away long enough to let me have my fall.  I love the fall.  I need the fall.  It’s all look forward to.

You know…there’s just too many double entendres in there to even bother deciphering…so I should go now before I start to think too much.

I'm your negation, remember?

2005-10-13T20:04:00.000-04:00

I am walking around, trying to hide the humongous hickie on my neck like I’m a 15 year old.  Yes, a hickie.  About the size of my palm.  Deep purple and painful looking.  On my neck.  For the world to see.

Compliments of Dooley.
My ex…no…my friend…no…my boyfriend…no…my fuck buddy…no…my, um….
my…
my confusion.

I saw him yesterday, and he sucked the hell out of my neck…like a damn vampire.  That’s how we looked too, like he was sucking the blood out of me.  He had his mouth clamped down and his hands around my neck and cradling my head as I whimpered and tried to pull away before submitting and dissolving into tiny moans as I clutched at his arms and pulled him closer, making him more vicious in his possession.

I sat up most of last night wondering about it.  He is my own Lestat…my brat prince…unbearable, uncontrollable, unleaveable.  When I’m around him, it’s like I’m under a spell.  I feel lulled and calm and giddy…everything about our words and movements seem sexual…every hurt and disrespect accepted or forgotten whenever comes too close.  He is my vampire love.

I don’t get it.

Why the fuck can’t I just leave him?

Every time I think I’m gone or he’s gone, he comes back and nothing else matters…until he’s gone again.  And then I hate him again.  And then I want him gone.  Until he comes again.  And then I love him again.  And then I want him to stay.  And then he’s gone.

Get me off this crazy thing….called…love.

In that place between sleeping and awake

2005-10-11T16:59:00.000-04:00

I didn’t sleep much last night.
It was raining.  It was chilly.  It was romantic.

It was lonely.

I was lying in my bed, surrounded by the stifling silence in my room, talking to myself in my head.  It’s weird not having to have the air conditioner on anymore.  I never noticed how much it dominated the silence.  It’s hard to remember a time when I used to sleep without that constant drone by my head.  My life seemed so empty without it.

As if that’s why my life really seems empty.

So I laid there, staring out my window, carrying on conversations with myself.  It wasn’t until around 3:30 that I noticed why I was having such a hard time falling asleep.

It wasn’t dark outside.

It’s 3 a.m. and the sky had not gone dark at all.  Then I started thinking about snow, and I remembered that it never gets dark when it snows, either.  The sky turns a maudlin shade of mauve and stays that way for the rest of the night.  No darkness, no moon, no stars…just that maudlin mauve moving out towards forever.  I watched the faded clouds race by as I smoked my last cig, wondering at the beauty and absurdity of nature and life.  Finally, I flipped over and hugged my bear close as I listened to the rain and let it lull me to sleep.

It was mystical.  It was peaceful.  It was bliss.

It was very, very lonely.

I love you, why won't you let me?

2005-10-10T19:58:00.000-04:00

You know...I am starting to think my angels have developed a sick sense of humor at my expense. I mean seriously, let's be honest...it probably does get pretty fucking boring floating around on clouds and following my ass all day. Gotta have some kind of excitement.

I am tired of being someone's entertainment.

I wish I could untangle myself from the constraints of this love I have for this boy. Every time I feel the ties loosen, something diverts my attention and then I feel them pull tight again. I want to be angry...but at who? Really, who can I blame for this? My angels for confusing me, him for doing this to me or myself for allowing it? It might seem like it all boils down to control...to me standing up for myself and walking away, but it doesn't. I have to stand up and start walking, yes, but they need to stop confusing me and he needs to let me go. That's my main problem...he won't let me go. That's always been my problem with men. They claim to love me, don't want to be with me, but also don't want me to be with anyone else. They enjoy me being under their thumb, and because I've never known any place else, I like being there. It's safe there. Not because there's love but because there's familiarity. And in a way, it makes me love them more...because they want me there...because to me, possession equals affection. Seeing as I know that, it actually shouldn't still be a problem, but it is...because I know the constant, and I know the solution...I just don't know the variable or the formula that helps me get there.

Math never was my forte. I still get stumped for a second when someone asks me what 10% of 100 is. So it is no surprise that I am totally fucking up with this equation.

me + him x ? = happiness, but also, me + him x ? = heartache.

Funny how the opposite extremes of something carries the same characteristics. Hate can seem a lot like love. Genius can be mistaken for insanity. Deception can be misconceived as talent. Perception is often misunderstood for wisdom. All of these, hand in hand, running the gambit and connecting the variables of life...perfectly sensible while being incessantly incorrect.

Why do I suddenly feel like that guy in Pi?

What the hell was my point?

Oh yeah...that I wish I didn't love that asshole and that he would just tell me he doesn't love me and let me the fuck go.

Just thinking about him doing that made my heart skip.

Imagine how bad I will be when he actually does it.

What is the matrix?

2005-10-06T21:52:00.000-04:00

Last night he kissed me.

He kissed me and my stomach flipped and butterflies flew all over the place.

He kissed me and I remembered the first time we ever kissed and the taste was the same.

He kissed me and made me forget everything for awhile.

Last night he kissed me...
and I fell in love all over again.

I really can be an ass sometimes.

Thank you for the honesty....now fuck off and die

2005-10-06T00:42:00.000-04:00

I have a soul-ache.

Ok, this is going to sound weird and stupid and false but it’s not.

I talk to angels.

Not like the archangel Michael or Gabriel or anything. No…I’m not that crazy. I talk to my angels…my grandmothers…from my mom’s side, from my dad’s side, and from my side. Well, my side because she wasn’t really related to me, but she always referred to me as her granddaughter and she loved me very much. My dad’s mom died before I was born, but from what I am told, I used to talk to her when I was a child. I would say that’s bunk, but I have a clear picture of this woman in my head, and I have never seen or spoken to her before, but I know her face and love her completely. And my mom’s mom, well, she was the one that really raised me. She was the first and only person that always referred to me as beautiful whenever she mentioned me. Well my beautiful granddaughter likes to draw. My beautiful granddaughter is so smart. My beautiful granddaughter gets mouthy sometimes. And over here is beautiful granddaughter. Anyway, these women are my holy trinity, and whenever I need to pray, I pray to them. I ask them for signs…for help. I only ask the big guy for help when it’s for someone else.

But I digress…

So yes…I talk to angels. Every time I have asked for a sign, they gave it to me. Whenever I would be lying in bed (um…that’s where I talk to them…only when I’m in bed and about to fall asleep. I’m not really sure why. When I’m alone outside I talk to stars…but um…I’ll save that crazy for another story.), I would say, If I don’t hear from Dooley then we’re over. or If he doesn’t call me then we’re not meant to be. or If he doesn’t love me, please take him out of my life; and always, always, always…the next day…somehow…I’d hear from him. He would just call out of nowhere or call and be totally terrific and I would know as soon as it happened…This is the sign I asked for. Whenever I would think we were through or try to move on, there my angels were…showing up like gangbusters and throwing signs all over the place. Mainly songs. Three songs in particular. And they’re not really songs in heavy rotation anymore. They’re Listen To Your Heart, Ordinary People, and Lovers And Friends. Dooley called me this morning and I was on the verge of insanity with grief, and as I mulled over my telling him to fuck off in my head on the drive into work, Lovers And Friends came on the radio.

Disgusted, I snorted and whined What the fuck?!, but I sat there listening to it, wondering what the hell that song was doing on my radio at that fucking moment. Normally, I could just shake it off as a coincidence because I was thinking about him, but not today. Today I heard that song after talking to him and convincing myself that he doesn’t love me because last night I asked them for a sign.

Dude, seriously…what the fuck?

Now, not only are my angels supposed to give me clues and signs as to what to do, they are also supposed to look the fuck out for me. So did they miss the conversation he and I had the other night? How am I supposed to keep believing in this guy when he has basically told me I can’t be his girl but I can be his piece of ass? I would think that to be a bad thing. Why would my grands, who were all good church folk, want me to sit around waiting for this guy to come through and fuck me? How could we possibly work out? How will he do anything more than disappoint me time and again, leaving me cowed and defeated and even more self-depreciating? I don’t get it. I put it in my head to try and let it go, and then they put it in my head to try and stay.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s not schizophrenia. If it was, well…I wouldn’t know it, would I? But no, it’s not insanity. The angels are real…the signs are real. It’s what I know. I know I talk to angels. I know there are signs everywhere that point us in the right direction. I know the heart and mind never leap at the same time. I know life is full of unexplained things. I know sometimes the wrong decision is the right one. I know that it really is the darkest just before it’s light. I know I deserved to be loved.

I just don’t know if what I know is what I need to know…anymore.

Curiouser and curiouser

2005-10-04T20:06:00.000-04:00

How shocked was I last night when I made my final call to Dooley and the son of a bitch answered…sounding happy to hear from me?  How fucking shocked was I??!?

I didn’t rage.  I didn’t rant.  I didn’t cry.  I didn’t fold.

I asked him about the phone line and he is supposedly coming by tonight to give me the money to pick up the phone.  So he wants to keep that and we worked out his half of the bill.  Then he asked me what was up and I asked him the same thing and he told me he’s back on the streets, hasn’t been fucking around, still loves me but can’t be a good boyfriend right now, wants us to stay what we are to each other but lose the title, and doesn’t want us to see other people…well…definitely doesn’t want me to see anyone.  It was a pleasant conversation.  We talked and I felt relief and I let it go.  I still love him, but I know we aren’t going anywhere.  Maybe he’ll stop through a few times and we’ll have sex a few times before it just turns into him dropping off the money for the phone when I’m not there.  And that will be the end of that.  I don’t know why he just won’t let it be totally over or just say it’s over.  I’m not sure if he just isn’t trying to not hurt my feelings or if he really doesn’t want to lose me.  I’ve unwound myself from it, it seems.  I think I cried him all out yesterday, so now…it just is.  We just…are.  I don’t think we could ever be any more or any less than each other’s first love…and we will never see or love anyone else the way we see and love each other.  That doesn’t mean we’ll be together.  And if by some chance we try to be together, it doesn’t mean we will be able to stay together.  It just means we love each other very much…maybe too much…for us to ever see things clearly when it comes to us.

We will always be nothing less than complicated.

I hate work now that Becca isn’t here.  HATE IT.  All day long I just sit here quietly, ignoring everything and everyone around me with a sour look on my face.  I refuse to do any work besides my own, so now I’m bored to fucking tears.  And it’s their fault.  Why fuck me over?  I’m the only good worker you have left and you fuck me over by lying to me for months about the title and then screwing me over for my raise?  Are you shitting me?  But you still want me to give 110%?  Fuck that.  Fuck you.  I’m done with that shit.  Done.  I watch people laze all day and not do their work and they get commended.  I don’t even get a damn pat on the head.  That’s why Becca left.  We were the best workers they had and now she’s gone and they’re trying to fuck me over.  Well.  I’ll just do my work until they fire me.  Or until the New Year, so I can get my two weeks vacation and bounce.  But there are some people here that try to make me laugh…to smile.  They tell jokes and make small talk, and I don’t know…it feels good to know they give a shit enough to care and try.

Yesterday someone told me I am expendable.  The expendable worker, the expendable lover, the expendable friend, the expendable girlfriend.  She said I’m like a soldier that gets sent on suicide missions but keeps making it back to base.  She said when people need me, they love me…so I end up loving them.  But when they no longer need me, I cease to exist to them, while I sit around trying to figure out what the fuck happened.  When they remember me again, I am so happy to be remembered that I forgive them for everything.  And so on, and so on, and so on.  I just keep going through the same cycle thinking it’s different but it’s always the same.  Now the person that made this observation barely knows me.  I think we have had maybe 10 conversations tops, so hearing her say this really pissed me off.  In a way she’s right, but I think she’s generalizing.  Then again, since she doesn’t know me, that’s all she can really do.  When I care about people, they do get to walk all over me.  I admit that.  But that’s not because I’m needy or anything.  It’s more like penance.  I was a loner and a bit of a loon when I was younger and I tended to really terrorize my friends.  I don’t know why I did it.  I just did.  Now I am older and getting soft in my old age, and I realize that all I want is to have a steady relationship and have at least one friend to make memories with for the rest of my life.  So yes…a lot of shit gets to slide.  But a lot shit I deserve.  The way then men I love treat me is uncalled for, as I have never had luck with men or fucked any one over…but my fucked up friends?  Yeah, I deserve them.  And I love their crazy asses to death.  I don’t love many people, but the people I love mean everything to me and I will always forgive them for the stupid shit they sometimes do.  So if that makes me a doormat, I guess I’m a doormat.  I say it makes me dependable.  I say it makes me understanding.  I say it makes me a good friend.  I say it makes me a good woman.

But expendable?  No.  Fuck you and your “expendable”, bitch.  There’s logic in my impracticability that no one but I can understand.

I will always be nothing less than complicated.

I don't love you anymore. Good-bye.

2005-10-03T19:05:00.000-04:00

I have his cell number.

His sister came over yesterday and she was calling him like crazy for herself and I filched the number from my phone. I called last night. He didn't pick up so I left him a message telling him that I only wanted to know if he wanted the phone line still and I hoped that he was doing alright. I told him I'd try again today, in case he needed minutes on the phone and that's why he never picked up today. I told him if he didn't answer, I was going to get rid of the phone line and lose his number and stay out of his life.

He never did call me back.

I called today and again, got no answer. In fact, his phone was just straight turned off.

It's official.

There's no turning back from this one. Nothing to say, no excuses, no apologies...nothing. He just wants me gone, for whatever reason. He never even gave us a chance. A year of my life gone. Just a bunch of words, words, words that meant everything to me and nothing at all to him. And I fell for it. Fell hard as hell. Like an asshole. He lied, he used me, he left me.

And I love him still.

I have been crying all day because he was the only guy I ever believed in and he fucked me over the worse and I am still stupid enough to admit that I still love the mother fucker.

And what really hurts is he won't talk to me. He never said anything. Not that he was unhappy or I was too fat or I wasn't pretty enough or he was gay or he was a liar or he just never loved me...nothing. He just left me. Never came over...stopped calling...ceased existing. If I didn't have all the letters he wrote me, I'd think I'd have got batshit and made it all up. But I didn't. He was real. What he told me is documented. I have proof. He wanted me. He fought for me to stay. He left me.

And I'm not sure if I will ever get over this. I always said I wouldn't if he left me...but I never thought he'd leave me like this. I don't even know how to breathe right now. I've never hurt this bad....never.

I just want to curl up and die.

I wish I'd never met him.

Life is filled with goodbyes, a million goodbyes, and it hurts every time.

2005-10-01T16:35:00.000-04:00

Today is Becca’s last day at work. Come Monday, I will be here all on my own.

I am dreading it.

The only thing I like about coming to work is Becca. We joke around and go to the store together and argue and email all day. Then we go home and call or text each other. She’s my best friend. And she’s leaving me.

She says we’ll still be close, but I doubt it. She’ll have a new job and she’s moving in with one of her other friends and will be going to school. We won’t have anytime to see each other really or talk to each other. It won’t be the same. We’ll drift apart more and more until finally…there’s nothing.

And part of me resents her. Not for getting a new job and moving or anything, I’m happy for her when it comes to that. I resent her for leaving me. After this hellish year I’ve had, I don’t think I can take her leaving me too.

But…I guess we all have to move on…and if we are meant to be friends, we’ll stay friends.

If not, it will just be another goodbye to jot down and lament over like all of the other goodbyes in my life.

I’ll miss her.

Chaos, BAM! Bang your head on that!

2005-09-27T21:00:00.000-04:00

I oftimes have daydreams about slipping and falling and hurting myself horribly that are so vivid, I cry out and jerk myself out of my reverie with flushed cheeks and a rapidly pounding heart.

I always see myself slipping on a slippery floor or falling down my steps inside and outside of my apartment or my leg just gives away...and I go sprawling forward, usually landing on my face and knocking out some teeth as I am twisted in some strange way, making a broken bone protrude through my skin. I see these things and then, as if someone is yanking me back, I snap alert...scared and embarrassed, I try to focus on things around me to convince myself it was just a daydream and try to calm down.

I see the same things at night, every night, before I am able to go to sleep. I see myself falling 3 times, always 3 times, and then my mind settles on something else and I am able to drift off into dreams.

I know this must mean something. There must be some symbolism or foreshadowing here that I am just not getting. My subconscious is trying to remind me of something or warn me about something and I am just too stupid to understand. I am never being pushed or rushed or anything in them...I am just walking along, looking and feeling good...always looking and feeling pretty and confidant...and then WHAM!! I go flying forward, twisted and broken, my face bloody and hideous...there I am crying, looking around and hoping no one saw me fall. Most of the time I snap out of it just as I fall. Other times I see myself lying there with all these people just walking past me like nothing happened at all. Like they don't see me. Like I'm not even there. And on rare occasions, I actually see myself get up and just hurried walk away.

I know this must mean something.

For some reason, I keep thinking about this today...about my fascination with me falling flat on my fucking face.

I know it must mean something.

I just wish I knew what it was.

Birth is the opposite of death. Life...has no opposite.

2005-09-26T20:53:00.000-04:00

I had very strange times this weekend.  It flowed from emotion to emotion and today, the day that should have affected me the least, has afflicted me the most.

Saturday was the wedding.
Now, far be it from me to call anyone ghetto fab, but in a way…it was.  It was pretty, though, and the bridesmaids and the bride were all beautiful and the husband handsome.  It just had an air of…ghetto.  I’m not sure why.  The church was cute and everyone was dressed nice.  Maybe it was just because it was in Camden.  I try to steer clear of Camden as much as possible.  Too many bad memories…too many lost souls that I know.  So anyway, yes, I went, and I was glad I wasn’t in it since the preacher was more giving a sermon than he was wedding someone.  They read their own vows and even though I really didn’t expect to, I started crying. Not for them or because of them…but because…I want a wedding.  I was looking at everything and sizing it up, noticing the mistakes and making mental notes not to make the same ones.  I was thinking of dresses and flowers and programs and guest books and candles and shoes and bridesmaids and flower girls and ring bearers.  I was thinking out color schemes and time of day and location.  I was thinking about cakes and open bar and menus.  I thought of the groom.  And then I cried.

How many times had I sat around and thought of marrying Dooley?  How many kids’ names had I chosen out of the Muslim name book?  How many times had I seen his face and kissed his lips after saying “I do” with tears in my eyes?  Too many times…too many times.  Now he’s gone.  And honestly, for the life of me, I have no idea as to why.  I don’t know what happened.  I don’t know if it was all a lie or just fell apart when he came home…or whatever.  I don’t know what went wrong.  I don’t know why…he doesn’t love me anymore…or if he ever really did in the first place.  So I cried.  Because there they were starting a new life, and mine…is pretty much stagnate.  I may never be the bride.  I may never have that day I have always dreamed about or the kids I have forever yearned to carry inside of me.  I may never be anything more than this…and that just seems so unfair.  And so I sat in the back of the church at my cousins wedding and cried with everything I was worth.

I skipped the reception and came into work for a few hours.  Then I went home to try to nap for a bit, which I failed at miserably.  And then I went out with Colleen and the gang to drink myself stupid.  It’s funny, I never told any of them about being published or my writing, but while sitting there that night I told Joe, Sandy’s husband, and I realized I’d never told any of them because none of them had ever asked.  They ask about my work, how I’m doing, who I’m doing…but never what I’m doing.  I never noticed that.  Joe, in fact, pointed it out.  So I told them about my other diaries were there are stories about them, and Alfredo and Joe were just so proud of me I couldn’t stop smiling.  Maybe I never wanted them to know because I was afraid for them to know…afraid for them to know it if I failed.  I am so weird about my writing.  I want to be a famous poet, but only a couple of people even know that I know how to put two words together.  I wish I knew why I act so ashamed about the only thing I am good at.

Anyway, I went home and called Swiz.  He didn’t answer.  I passed out.

Sunday I watched the Eagles kick some ass and then watched The Incredibles before getting dressed and heading over to Linda’s viewing.  I felt so out of place there.  It wasn’t like I knew her…or like I know Lisa that well.  I know Becca and I know how much Becca loved her so I came there to be there for her.  But it was so overwhelming.  I walk in and there was a wall of pictures of Linda, and I felt so sad because she looked so happy in them.  She was always smiling or making faces and seemed like she was really having fun.   There were so many people there!!  Lines and lines of people filing in and crying and chatting.  I sat in the back, out of the way, and watched the procession in awe.  I stared at the flowers and faces, concentrating on the back of Becca’s head and Lisa’s tears.  I just wanted to hold her, Lisa.  I just wanted to run up there and hug her and tell her it would be all right.  Then I felt silly for feeling that way, because basically, I barely know her.  But I know her pain and I felt her heart breaking, and as stupid as it might sound, the tears that spilled down my cheeks for Linda and Lisa were genuine.  True tears for two women I don’t know.

I left there heavy inside with sadness.  I thought about Linda and all of the people that came and how beautiful it all was.  So many people loved her, really loved her.  So many people came to pay their respects, and I felt so sorry that I hadn’t gotten the chance but to meet her once briefly at Becca’s father’s funeral.  I wished I had met her.
Then I was thinking about the similarities between weddings and funerals.  Both have laughter and tears, inappropriate behavior, envious spectators, scorned loves and old feuds, and endings and beginnings.  I watched a woman walk down the aisle and leave her old name and life behind in the name of love, and then I walked down the aisle to look at a woman that had left behind everything and everyone painted with the memories of her love.  At once I knew that I envied both of these women.  One for starting a new life, and one for leaving such a full life behind.  I wondered if I could ever be so loved.  I hoped and wished and prayed to one day be so loved.

I could not fall asleep.

Today I get to work and the big dog is here from South Bend.  My boss let us in on the secret that he is leaving to go work down there.  Someone else is going to be my boss.  And I am getting royally screwed in the ass without any lube again.  So first I get passed over for my raise, then my boss gives me this bullshit deal that I didn’t even want to take in which he pays me some extra money out of his pocket, and now he’s leaving with me getting more responsibility and less money because he won’t even be here to give me the bogus bonus.  As soon as I come out of that meeting, my cell was ringing.  I pick it up and it’s Isis telling me basically that I am fucked for the money for the cell phone for this month.  The bill that Mark ran the fuck up my fucking around on the internet after asking me to take that option off of the phone.  Yes.  Yes.  That is fucking awesome.  I try to be cool and do my work and I get passed over for promotions and raises.  I try to be nice and help someone out and let them use my cell phone and I get fucked over and left with a huge bill.  I put my life on hold till my man gets home and he comes home and shits on me.  I don’t understand it.  What did I do to always get fucked over like this?  It’s true…nice guys finish last, but nice girls don’t even place in the race.

Fuck this shit.

Maybe it’s time for a new pair of running shoes.

Try not to ruin everything by being "you"

2005-09-22T19:27:00.000-04:00

I am amazed at the fact that Becca's sadness has not rubbed off on me. Sometimes I am so empathetic that it's crippling, but this time, not so much so. Maybe that's because Becca isn't as sad as I thought she'd be. They are all taking it pretty well, but then, it wasn't really that much of a surprise. They got to say goodbye, she's no longer in pain...it was a good death.

That came out sounding callous, but really, I'm being serious. It wasn't full of people howling and falling out, no one screamed and ranted, no one tried to shake her back to life...she just exhaled one last time and was gone. Everyone hugged and cried and then went to the diner to reminisce. Of course they were shrouded in sadness, but they had each other, and somehow it was a little easier. The only tension in the air was Lisa being so adamant about moving in with Becca and no one wanting to go home. It's understandable. She's still warm at home...she's still smiling and laughing, her perfume is still lingering, her things are still strewn about...she's still there. So, I can see where going home is the last option available. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be there. It's like some kind of self induced torture really, to immerse yourself in something you lost. A lot of times...you never find your way back out.

It could be that I am resistant to her sadness, because I am trying so hard to fight off my own melancholia. I try not to think too much. The trick is to think about too many things at once, that way your mind can't just settle on one thing. When you start to feel your mind eventually clear and begin to settle, you start looking around you and channeling your concentration on objects. You turn on the History or Discovery Channel and watch another Jesus conspiracy or the mating habits of Tigers. You smoke a bunch of cigs and drink enough to blur the edges on everything. Not get drunk, mind you...just become...unfocused. You play a fighting or driving video game that will piss you off or make you laugh. You read something, a book you've been meaning to plow through...something complicated. Nothing whimsical or dreamy...complicated...like an old college psych book or a computer technician for dummies book. You make your mind run and run and run...so when you lay down to sleep, you're eyes are too greedy for dreams to stay open and stare at the walls. So you can fall right into dreams instead of laying there measuring your empty bed...your empty life. So you can dream away the pain and hurt and anger, instead of laying there with your fists clenched and biting your lip with tears in your eyes. Because once that happens, once your guard is down for just a moment, it all comes flooding in and there you are...lost...choking on sobs and gasping for love...wondering just how you got here...again...staring balefully at your phone and wishing for it to ring...watching your bedroom door and hoping it will be pushed open by them rushing in to tell you everything will be alright.

But it's not alright....it probably never was...and if so, it might not ever be again.

I try to be a good friend and take on Becca's sadness so she won't have to bear it all alone, but I seem to be fighting it off as I am fighting my own off...because one misstep and I'll be back in that abyss struggling to drown just so I can finally be free.

I try not to think to much because it's a self induced torture, really, to immerse myself in something I've lost. One of these times, I'm going to lose myself and never be able to find my way out. Eventually, I will just stay gone forever...

...and could ever love me if I'm gone?

Put out the light, and then put out the light

2005-09-21T20:30:00.000-04:00

Sometimes life can be a real slap in the face, but death is more like getting sucker punched in the gut.  Winded and bruised, the only thing you can do is fall down, double up, and hold yourself until you are able to move to breathe again.  Poor Becca was still on the ground from the first hit, trying to crawl to her knees to breathe, and then death comes along and kicks her in the stomach again.

Her surrogate mother died today.

In a way, it’s a surprise that’s not really a surprise.  Linda had been sick for some time now, and when it’s cancer in the brain, well, you pretty much know the outcome…no matter how much you hope for the opposite.  The surprise was just last month, the doctors said she was better and changed her meds and she was allowed to drive again.  Then she goes for a check up and they tell her it’s worse, and even though Linda was a born fighter, she just couldn’t take it anymore.  She had had enough.  She gave up.

Last week she went into the hospital.  Earlier this week, she was non-responsive to everyone around her.  Today…today she let go.  Damn…just a month ago she was driving again.

And I fear for Becca.  She got the call at work, and I saw her face when she came back in…the same look she had when her father died a little over a year ago…and I felt my heart break for her all over again.  First her father and now the woman she thinks of as her mother…gone.  Luckily, this time she got the chance to say goodbye.  Last time, she had been short with her father and the next day he died.  She’ll never forgive herself for that.  I’m just glad she doesn’t have another thing to regret.

I think seeing my face made it worse for her.  When she had heard her father was sick, I sat with her at the job and waited for her ride to come.  Even as I sat there, I knew he was gone.  I prayed I was wrong, but I knew it.  So I wasn’t surprised when she had called me an hour later crying.  And today, right before her phone rang, I had a bad feeling.  In a daydream, I saw Lisa (Linda’s daughter, Becca’s best friend) crying.  And then the phone rang, I looked at Becca and turned away went she reached for it.  I knew what it was about…and by the look on her face, I think Becca knew that I knew.  She came back with the tears and all I could do was sit next to her and rub her leg.  Sorry is such a stupid word in these situations.  Why say sorry?  What does it fix?  What did you do wrong to apologize, you fucking idiot?  When my Gram died, everyone came to me saying how sorry they were. All I wanted to do was scream.  So when someone dies, I never say I’m sorry.  I’d rather be quiet than say something completely stupid and upset someone even more.

So now…what?  Becca and Lisa will be lost…but they will be lost together, hopefully.  They are supposed to be moving in with each other into Lisa’s grandmother’s house.  Becca said she sat with Linda last night, held her hand, and told her that she would take care of Lisa, that she could let go.  And she was able to convince Lisa to say her goodbyes, also.  Lisa had been fighting so hard against it, telling her mother to fight instead of letting her go.  Becca said Lisa told her that she went to Linda yesterday and told her everything was alright, that she would be alright, and she was letting her go.  So today, always being a lady, Linda quietly took her leave from this world.

Now life will finally begin for Lisa.  She is free now.  No more worries.
Funny how death has the uncanny ability to do that…set one free even as it imprisons them.  The ultimate contradiction.

I wish there was something I could do.  I didn’t know Linda, but I know Lisa and I know Becca and I know how much Becca loved her.  Just like I never knew Becca’s dad, but I feel like I did.  I even cried at his funeral.  I still feel like I lost him, too.

I just wish there was something I could do.
I hate this feeling…
I hate feeling…
I hate this.

For you, my heart

2005-09-21T19:18:00.000-04:00

There’s something about sex, you know?

There’s something about having sex with him that leaves me feeling…defeated. It’s hard to explain. I mean defeated as in two warriors in combat. I kind of like it. In fact, maybe the word I am searching for is dominated. Yes, dominated. I like the way he manhandles me and tosses me this way and that, holding my wrists tight and biting my skin…demanding I tell him how much I love it and chuckling when all I can manage is a squeal. I say defeated because days after, my body hurts. Parts that shouldn’t be hurting are in pain. Like my upper back…my ankles…my hips. I have bruises all over…perfect fingerprints and handprints on my arms, neck, legs, and ass…and I look at them in the mirror with weary eyes and smile in satisfaction. It’s like he marks his territory. Any man looking at me would know these marks are from another man. And in my warped mind, it makes me feel wanted…feel loved.

I really am a twisted nit, aren’t I?

Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new

2005-09-20T19:16:00.000-04:00

I died last night.

I laid down, closed my eyes, and as the world swirled away from me, I felt myself dying.

Either that…or I had way too much too drink.  Either way, it was quite the experience.

I waited in vain for him to show up.  I waited and ranted with Becca and held my phone close, hoping he’d have the decency to at least call me…but he didn’t.  Not a word from him.  I figured he wouldn’t come for a few reasons.  My tone on the phone, he knows he fucked up, he figured I wouldn’t take him to court, and he figured if he was with me, no one else would make it to take him to court, either.  And all of these reasons make sense to me, so why he had to fucking even broach the subject of coming to see me, I have no clue.  Maybe he really wanted to see me.  Maybe he just wanted to hurt me.  Maybe I’m just an asshole.  Maybe he’s just a jerk.  Maybe we both deserve better.  Maybe we deserve each other.

Maybe.

So I drank, of course, and smoked like 11 cigs as I played Soul Caliber II on my PS2.  I toyed with my phone and contemplated calling Swiz because I was lonely and feeling destructive and that’s what I do whenever I drink…I call him.  It rang twice and I hung up.  I couldn’t take the idea of rejection again.  I didn’t want to hear it go to voice mail so I could slam my phone shut and turn over to angrily stare at the wall with my eyes full of tears.  I didn’t want…to know…anything.  I hung up and closed my eyes and felt the world drifting and sifting under my back when I heard, You let me violate you…you let me desecrate you…you let me penetrate you…you let me complicate you…

At first I didn’t realize what it was, and then I struggled to open my eyes and looked at my phone and there was his name.  Then the phone stopped ringing.  I picked it up and looked at it and sighed, figuring it was for the best.  I went to put the phone back down and it rang again.  It was him.  I answered it giggling.  The conversation was quick.  Our conversations are always quick.  He asked why I was still up, I asked why he was still up.  He asked could he come lay with me, and I said I wanted him to come.  Not even 10 minutes later he was there.  A minute after that he was naked.  A few seconds after that he was in my bed with me curled up in his arms.  And I breathed so heavy then.  And then, I was alive.

I wish I knew what it is about him that I am so drawn to…because it’s not the sex.  I was coveting him when he didn’t even know I existed.  Maybe it’s because he seems so fragile to me.  Like if I were to grasp him to tightly, his bones would crumble through my fingers.  The features of his face are delicate but masculine, reflecting how he is with me…gentle but demanding.  His skin is the shimmery shade of night…the shadow of night as it envelops the moon…and he is beautiful to me, so very beautiful.  When he rocks inside of me, I feel like he is the only one that has ever really been inside of me, and he bruises, crushes, and abuses me like I am his tawdry little whore.  Taunting me and purging me, making me moan and scream out for more.  And then…he knows me.  He becomes a part of me.  And we move…in ways so primal and perfect that the pleasure is at the very pinnacle of what ecstasy could possibly be.  And there, frozen in the moment he breathes my name…there…I love him.  There it is safe to love him, to need him, to be lost in him.  There, if only for a moment, he is everything I could ever want him or need him to be and I am perfect and beautiful and he loves me.  I’ve never had that with anyone else.  I’m guessing that’s because with everyone else it was nothing but sex.  It’s more than that with him.  I feel comfortable with him.  I…feel…with him.  I was always worried I wouldn’t have that same feeling with Dooley, but now it seems like I don’t have to worry about that.  It seems like Dooley is gone from me forever.  We were over before we even had the chance to begin.  So sad for him.  So sad for us.  So sad for love.

Swiz is both my crutch and my destruction.  It’s like he brings me through bad times to bring me to bad times.  As much as I want him to go away forever, I’d be lost if he were to go.  I’ve always told myself we could never be anything more, that I am nothing to him.  But he seems to be just as stuck as I am…as unwilling to let me leave as I am to watch him go.  Wouldn’t it be weird if we were the ones that are supposed to end up together?  If this whole thing with Dooley was to just bring me back and closer to Swiz?

How weird would it be to find out I’ve had the love of my life all along?

How weird, indeed?

Now that I have said this, he will probably never come back.

Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight

2005-09-19T19:20:00.000-04:00

Becca laughingly said something to me yesterday after I told her I had made another conscious choice between food and vodka. "Oh great...now I have to watch Lisa with the pills and you with the vodka. What is wrong with ya'll?" I laughed and then told her how I had panicked when I had seen that my usual store was closed and I had to find another one. "You have no idea how happy I was!!" I said. Right after I said this, I looked at the bag sitting on the stoop next to me and shook my head. I really had been happy to find another store open...well...relieved is a better word. All I had eaten all day was a spicy chicken burrito, but when it came to spending money to go get something from the diner, when I turned out of my complex, I headed to the liquor store down the block before I even realized where I was heading. There was something extremely sad in that moment, as I sat there with my drink next to me as if it were my only friend and comfort in the world...something very sad indeed. I stared hatefully at that bag, aching to race upstairs and pour me a glass, but knowing there was no point because I hate to wait for it to chill in the freezer because I didn't have any ice cubes. I would have cried if I hadn't found it so fucking pathetically funny. Poor little fat girl, fucked over by love again...so alone, so alone, so alone...drink yourself to the quiet, darling...drink yourself to the quiet peace of death....

I wound up drinking 2 beers and a glass of vodka and cran before I had a headache and had to take a shower. I stood there thinking, letting the scalding water beat me raw...and smiling at the pain...smiling, smiling, smiling. I only smile when I'm drunk, lately. I only smile when I am drunk and alone and feel like crying. I smile and smile and smile until the irony actually makes me laugh until I cry.

I called Swiz. He didn't answer. He never answers when I really want him to...only when he shouldn't. I was going to text him today, but I didn't. It's not worth it. Besides, getting bitchy with someone and telling them to stay out of your life when they owe you money is just...stupid. I'll wait till he gives me my money and then tell him to take a hike.

I wanted to call Dooley and curse him out, but how? I didn't even know where he was. So I laid there and cursed him out in my head, telling him to fuck off and never speak to me again. I am very bold in my daydreams. No...even more...I am very bold when I am alone. Put someone else in the mix and I'm a huge pussy. I want him gone from me and I want to be the one to tell his sorry ass to go, but I only get the chance to say these things when I am alone, and when he does call, I am so caught off guard that I don't know what to say. Like today. I called his house....totally not expecting him to be there...and when he got on the phone, I was speechless. So I bitched about the phone, asking him what he wanted to do with it...and then he threw me again by asking to come see me tonight. Oh, now you want to come see me? After all this time? I quipped. Well, not if you don't want me to, then forget it. he retorted. My mind tumbled and fumbled over what to say. I do want to see him....but it's to tell him to fuck off. But then...I want to see him because...I want to see him. But then I don't want to see him...because I want to tell him to fuck off. I don't want to see him because when I do...it will finally be over. And part of me...doesn't want it to be over. I've loved him for so long, I can't imagine him gone again.

So I bitched some more and then asked him if he was coming anyway. He said he yes.

I have betrayed myself again. I have cut myself open and jumped in shark infested waters. Because if he doesn't come over, it will hurt like hell...it will devour my soul...and it will be my fault. I had my chance to tell him not to come and to never come or call again, but something tugged at my stupid heart when I heard his tired voice and I softened. Hope flared inside again.

Hope will be the fucking end of me....I swear it will.

And the thing is, I know he won't come. I know I will go home and just sit there alone, drinking myself sick and smiling myself to sleep...because I smile when I'm drunk. I smile when I'm drunk and alone and feel like crying.

Lately, I've been smiling a whole lot.

I wish I knew what was so damn funny.

For when dreams go

2005-09-17T15:33:00.000-04:00

Disillusionment seems to be my medication to keep Insanity at bay. I mean, I see things and hear things that aren't really there. I make myself believe in fallacies when reality seems to get a bit too harsh. Because sometimes those dreams, those fantasies, those...lies, are all I have to hold on to until the storm passes.

I am starting to see my pattern. I have always been a cynical sillyheart, and because of this contradiction, everything I say and do must contradict each other. I guess I can talk the talk, but I haven't really gotten the knack of walking that walk. I can look at someone and see them for who and what they are in minutes. I can give excellent advice and try to help fix any situation...but mine. I can fix the world, but I'll be damned if I can fix my life. Maybe that's my cross to bear. If I could accomplish all those things, I'd be perfect, and there really isn't a such thing as perfect. If anyone or any situation were ever to be perfect, it would probably unmake all of existence. While I'm sure Loki and Bartleby might get kinked up by that idea, I'm really not sure that I'm ready to go just yet.

Yesterday was an awful day. I spent most of the day in tears. I woke up alone, the commute to work was horrific, I'm already broke when I just got paid Thursday, my best friend gave her two week notice at work, my boss told me that I was shafted for my raise and they don't intend on reversing the decision, the systems kept going down at work, I had a killer headache, I spent way too much on some jeans, I had to pull out of my cousin's wedding because my fat ass couldn't find a dress, my cell phone broke, my mother pissed me off, my "boyfriend" still never called back, my "lover" has disappeared again, my house is a wreck, my cat is a bitch, and it was my dead grandmother's birthday and I don't even know where her grave is to go visit her.

All this shit is enough to make someone postal. So what do I do? I tell myself my job is just a job, my best friend will keep in touch, my boyfriend is just being a boy and all the other stuff is nothing. Every time I tell myself that something is nothing and I shouldn't worry about, I remember one of my favorite movies. In the Neverending Story, the enemy that they were fighting was The Nothing. The Nothing was eating away at everything because no one cared and no one could do anything because it was only nothing and they didn't know how to fight something that doesn't technically exist.

For some reason that movie always stuck with me, and The Nothing is one of my biggest fears. I fill my life up with a bunch of stupid somthings to keep The Nothing at bay. I revel in my disillusionments to keep insanity at bay.

Because sometimes...the lies...are all I have to onto until the storm passes me by.

And so live ever-or else swoon to death

2005-09-14T19:02:00.000-04:00

Last night I texted Swiz to tell him that he could come over if he wanted…but then I ended it by saying we needed to chill from that for awhile.  He never responded one way or another, and though I was hurt at first, I was eventually relieved.  As much as I want him to leave me alone, I need him to want to stay around.  If he stays long enough, maybe one day he will finally tell me if he ever really loved me or tell me I was a fool for waiting around for so long.

I laid in my bed alone last night, my heart barely beating was stretched across the ceiling, and I sat there watching it pulse in awe.

I finally had what I needed to cry.
I had finally remembered Dave Matthews.

I listened to Some Devil and Stay Or Leave at least fifty times each, and while I didn’t have one of those good ole break down kind of cries, I did lay there smoking cig after cig, staring at the beating ceiling as my silent tears continued to fall.  Each song reminding me of each of them, though I loved these songs before I ever had a reason to associate it to them.  Though, when I first heard Stay Or Leave, it did make me think of Swiz…making me cry with angst because I just wanted it all to be over or to move to another level.  So I was surprised when Becca brought in the CD to work yesterday and track 4 played and there was Dooley's and my story set to music.  And then track 8 came and there was Swiz’s song.  And then, I felt something.  I felt terribly sad…and it was wonderful.  Because it was something.

So the sadness stayed with me through the night, and I spoke to my angels as I watched the pulse, asking them why they would trick me with signs, dreams, and magic if all Dooley was going to do was come home and break my heart.  I dreamed of him last night…well…this morning, too.  I dreamed he called me with these stupid excuses and I told him to go to hell and hung up.

I was in the bathroom when a strange number came up on my cell this morning.
I answered.
It was Dooley.

Dooley full of apologies and telling me he knew I was mad and cursing him out all week, but he had gotten picked up on Friday.  His PO said that he had a fine in Gloucester that had to be taken care of, so instead of paying the fine, he did the 5 days.  Since the fine was so low, they let him out in 4.  And he called me this morning to explain and let me curse him out and take whatever venom I had to give.  At first I felt awful.  All I could think about was all I had thought and done, thinking he was an asshole that had abandoned me…but that wore off after awhile.  Driving into work, I realized that even though I had committed this sin, he was still the catalyst that had brought me to it.  I don’t blame him for my choices, but I blame him for his…and after all the things he did to hurt me and sabotage us, when it came down to trust, I was running low.  When it came to believing, I was completely cowered because he had tampered with that belief.  Even now, I don’t think we are going to make it…and that was never anything I had in my mind when it came to us…until he gave me that idea.

Now after I have baptized myself in this evil, Dooley shows back up spouting psalms of love to make the sin even worse.  Just when I was trying to come to terms with him being gone and Swiz being my crutch, everything is upside down and backwards.  I feel that I should give Dooley another chance and keep my betrayal mine until he does something to prove that he doesn’t really care.  And then I will tell him everything, and send him from me forever.

Until then, I have to live with this…both what he’s done and what I’ve done…and try to find a comfortable median where I can rest and try to be happy.

I begged for the chance to feel something, and now I am feeling everything at once.

Why is it that whenever I ask for anything, the fates never give me just enough…it always has to be one extreme or the other?

Maybe it’s just their way to shut me the hell up for awhile.

Methinks she doth protest too much

2005-09-13T17:55:00.000-04:00

I want to cry. I seriously do. I want to cry. I need to cry.

I need to feel.

Swiz left me this morning, all a tumble of sweat, jizz, and whoredom...and all I could think about was...nothing. It was nice sleeping next to him. It was nice having someone lying next to me, clinging to my arm that's wrapped around his chest as if it was holding him from sinking into oblivion. It was nice to hear his little snores and feel the heat jumping from his body. I liked when he would turn over and rub against me and moan. I liked...being with him.

But I shouldn't be with him. I should be with my boyfriend. My boyfriend should want to be with me.
But I am, and I'm not, and obviously he doesn't.

I am so...lost. There are daily and weekly routines that we had while he was away that have vanished now that he is home, but I find myself going through the motions anyway. I notice I am waiting for the phone to ring at certain times and I am still checking the mailbox when I get home. Sometimes...I think I see him hanging out in places around my way. Sometimes...I think I hear him coming to my room in the middle of the night. Sometimes...I still hear him in my dreams. Sometimes...I let myself believe that he loves me. Sometimes...I allow myself to still love him.

And I am using Swiz as much as he is using me. But I am falling into old routines with him, too. I want to lay next to him and play in his hair and rub his back and just hold him...hold him forever. I look at him and fall into his eyes, and when he holds his arms open to me, I feel that hole he made in my heart rip a little wider. I think in his own way he loves me, but I know he also doesn't think I really love him. But I do. I love him still. I have always loved him. Just like Dooley. Hurt and humiliated, I love him still. I have always loved him. I will always love them. Even while they are the ones that have hurt me the most...I will always love them. So I guess I will always be their fool, because I will always be love's fool, because I always seem to want what I shouldn't have. Maybe I'm just weak. Maybe all this talk of love and unrequitedness is bullshit, and the truth is that I am just a scared weak little bitch that is too afraid to admit that I am a fucking moron that likes to waste my time on lost causes because it fills up the empty spaces in my life. Maybe this is all a lie...and he's a lie, and he's a lie, and I'm a liar that made it all up because I have nothing better to do with my time but pretend that people actually notice I am alive.

I wish it were all a lie. Oh, how I wish, I wish, I wish.

As it is, this is a true story...my story...my life. If it were fiction, I could throw in a little more happiness. If it were fiction, I could be beautiful and tragic and witty. If it were fiction, I would be the heroine of this story. If it were fiction, I would make them actually love me. But it's not fiction, and I'm not any of those things. I don't really know how these guys feel about me or why they do what they do. I am just a stupid girl trapped in my asinine ideals of love. I don't know the truth. I probably can't handle the truth, which is why I enjoy blurring the edges of my life with liquor.

What am I rambling on about? I don't even know anymore. I don't think I ever did.

Thing is, I want to cry but can't. Maybe I thought if I wrote all of this and thought about all of this that maybe I would have a breakthrough and the tears would pour down my cheeks and set me free. With all of that, I still don't feel anything...just emptiness. Maybe that's all I am meant to be.

An empty vessel through which the world pours through. Never retaining, never filling, never finished...just constantly empty...as the world slides though and corrodes my insides.

Even that hokey, melancholy over the top bullshit didn't make me tear up.

Damn.

For no other story hath more woe

2005-09-12T20:33:00.000-04:00

I think there comes a time when a heart is so broken and the soul is in so much pain that you just can't feel anything anymore.

I am numb.

I haven't cried. I haven't ranted. I haven't fallen apart. I haven't moved on.

I just...haven't.

My mind goes a million miles a minute to every place imaginable, but it doesn't register any emotion in me. It's almost as if I don't care, but I do care...at least I think I do...at least I know I should. I think I'm coming down with a wicked bout of depression but I'm too giddy to realize it yet.

He's gone from me now.
At least I think he's gone.
I've heard from him 3 times in 6 days. Three phone calls totaling maybe a half hour, and a visit in which he brought his sister and skated out of like a razor on rails when his friend "showed up". Last I heard from him was Friday afternoon when he was supposed to be coming to see me that night. He never came. He never called. If this was a job, he'd be fired like a mother fucker.

And here I fretted about my run in with Swiz. Here I was worried about hurting him...when I haven't hardly seen or heard from him since he came home. Here I was worried about hurting him...when all along all he has seemingly been worried about is making sure to hurt me. So I went out on Saturday, and I was reminded of something. I may not be pretty or skinny, but some men are dumb enough to find me attractive...and I've missed that. I've missed flirting. I've missed drinking with my friends. I've missed dressing up and painting my face and fluffing my hair and intoxicating with my perfume. I've missed having fun. I've missed being seen. I've missed me.

And oddly, when I left the bar, my boyfriend didn't call me to say he wanted to see me and wished he could have came with me...no...my ex-lover did. And Sunday night, my boyfriend didn't call me and ask me to come lay with me...no...my ex-lover did. And I have decided that tonight, I am not getting my boyfriend to come over and fuck me...no...my ex-lover is. Because as far as I can tell, my boyfriend doesn't want to be with me...no...my ex-lover does.

It seems to me that we broke up already and I just must have not paid attention to that conversation. That is how he is acting. That is how he is treating me. Like I am the fucking devil when I haven't even done anything...that he knows about. So...I give up. I am tired of fighting for someone that obviously doesn't want to be won. I should have left long ago. The second he told me he loved me, I should have run for the hills. Because I love you is always the way the men in my life tell me goodbye. But I stayed...I loved...I believed...and I was punished.

And I should be hurting right now, but I'm not. Everything is in flux...nothing is still...and I can not find anyway to steady myself long enough to feel any way about anything. I just don't care...but that's a lie...because I do. I just don't know what to do with it...with any of it...so I don't do anything. I think I'm in shock. But I guess if I was I wouldn't think that I was, would I? Maybe all the drinking is helping. But it really isn't. Friday I scared myself. I had a choice between actually getting something to eat after not eating all day or stopping to get a bottle of vodka. Without even blinking, the vodka won. The scary part was when I was drinking, I convinced myself that I didn't really need food because I had enough body fat and it wouldn't hurt me any. Yes...I fear I may be on my way to becoming an alcoholic. Yet, maybe then I will be a half decent writer. I mean, you're not a writer until you are heartbroken and addicted to something...love, liquor, sex, misery, something...all the greats were addicted to something, you know. All the greats had a major heartbreak, you know. All the greats were touched by insanity, you know.

Luckily, I'm not great.

I am waiting for my heart to catch up with my head so I can start to feel all these things I am thinking about. Maybe then I can let Dooley go...and let Swiz go...and hold onto myself for once. I wish I could feel anything but this...indifference. It's starting to scare me. This is not normal. I need to cry. I need to rant. I need to fall apart. I need to move on. But I haven't.

I just...haven't.

I have spread my dreams under your feet

2005-09-10T16:14:00.000-04:00

Words.

I have a serious love/hate relationship with words. On one hand they are glorious and uplifting, but they can also be shallow and hurtful. Especially when they are used to communicate something you don't want to hear. Especially when they are being abused in the name of a cause. Especially when, to the speaker, they are nothing more...than words.

My whole life, I have been a prisoner of words, both loathing and adoring my captors. But I noticed my capriciousness causes some strange things to come about in my travels. Particularly my interaction with others. Some listen to how I speak, but never really what I say. They sit in wonder at how smart or silly or bitchy I am, never really wondering about who I am...and so they come to their own conclusions about me. And...for the most part...they are always wrong. I tend to gravitate towards, or be orbited by, broken people. We seem to seek and find each other, and while I look at them and see the cracks and flaws, I also see the beauty that obtusely shines in between them that no one else bothers to look for. So I clamor to them, in awe really, until they do something that actually perpetuates those cracks and thus, ruins my fascination and I knock them off their pedestal. And this is where the oddness begins, because even though I generally lose interest in these people, I go into super friend overdrive. This is when I become everything to them and do whatever I can to keep them around me, because I, also being broken and greatly flawed, would rather have something hurtful than nothing at all.

This is when I really see peoples' true characters. Some people take my friendship, and in turn, try to use it against me. They try to take advantage of the fact that I see them for who they are and like them in spite of their flaws. They exploit my need to be needed and try to get me for whatever they can. And I go through this all, watching these people slime and snake their way around me...jubilantly thinking they are getting away with something when in all actuality, I know what's going on. I know I am being used. I know I am on some levels being humiliated, but I still hold on. I dig in my heels and grit my teeth and ride it for all it's worth. Possibly because I am a masochist or a sadist...or maybe a bit of both. Mainly, it's because I desperately need someone to believe in. I want to stand by someone when no one else does so when they do make it past the bad times, I will have accomplished something. I will be able to say I knew it, and have it be for something good for once. Because really, I just want to be a part of something big...which apparently to me is someone else's life. I just want to have a walk on role in the cast of someone's life. I want to be someone that when I die, people will think about me fondly and thus making me a part of them forever. I will be someone to somebody.

Being that I'm broken, that seems a completely logical chain of events.

So it bothers me when someone I have higher than usual hopes for takes a nose dive from the pedestal I put them on. It hurts me to hear some of my beloved words being spouted from a mouth I just want to put my fist in as hard as possible. I can hardly believe the gall of the words or the false emotion emoted behind them and the underlying deception between them. And I am hurting...hurting worse than I have ever hurt in my life, but it's a dull and flat hurt...constant and even...and it will probably remain with me always. Because after swearing to never fall again, I jumped freely because I was seduced by the same words I now can't stand to hear. But being who I am, I am still here...still taking the abuse, still hoping that I am wrong even though I am right. Still staring at the beauty between the cracks with the awe of an innocent. Hoping...wishing...praying...for it to be different this time. For someone to save me this time. For someone to finally see me...and just...get it.

Because I am a broken girl enthralled by words...so what other course of action could I take?

Always and never

2005-09-08T18:09:00.000-04:00

It's strange, my life...sometimes...how it remains predictable, yet constantly manages to surprise me.

Like yesterday, for instance. Like love, for example. Typically astounding, basically.

He came to see me yesterday. After calling me and putting me on hold and never clicking back over , then never bothering to call me back the night before. After his sister calling me the wrong name and then backpedalling to say she didn't know what was going on between me and him, and he had said my name but she heard it wrong. After I took off of work even though I had no idea what was going on and I don't hear from him till half the day is gone. Yes, after all that, he came to see me yesterday.

I have never been so glad and so pissed off to see anyone in my life. And we sat there, not talking for the most part, as he called all over the place to find his friends. His sister came with him, so even though we were in my room we weren't alone. And being that we weren't alone and I was pissed off, we played the PS2 instead of talking about us. And even that didn't last long, as he seemed over eager to leave. But then his friend comes over, and Stewie and Nay get blazed while he and I just sit between them catching a hell of a contact high as we played the game. It was then I unwound and began to relax and had some fun. He was sitting between my legs while I talked on the phone and it was nice having him there...comfortable having him there. Then he was leaving, and I was tumbling slowly back to anger, but I grabbed him and kissed him a few times before he left, admonishing him not to tell me he would come back that night when I knew he would be out partying and wouldn't be back. He stood there promising, even as I knew it wouldn't happen and hated him for trying to make me believe otherwise. I hugged Stewie and Nay hugged me and then I stood glaring at Dooley as he raced down the steps to leave.

So unresolved, we are. So finished and yet too stupid to realize it, are we. Love, when in different temperaments, makes everything so much more difficult then it needs to be. You either love someone or you don't. You either want to be with someone or you don't. There really isn't any shades of grey when it comes to relationships, but people insist on creating grey areas so they can have an escape. But those grays surround you eventually...and blot out everything bright and beautiful about being with that person. I am trying so hard to still love him. Even as I fucking can't stand him most of the time, I keep fighting off the grays so I can hold onto what made me love him in the first place. But I think I'm the only one fighting. I am swinging and slashing and running to get to him...and I fear that he is already gone. I just don't know it yet, because he just doesn't realize it yet. There's nothing here to hold onto, because in essence, it's already gone.

Though, even as I write this...I am hoping and thinking otherwise. I will still wait for him to call just so I can bitch him out and then ask him to come stay. I will constantly fall apart and pull myself together as I watch him walking away from me, and pray that he will turn back to me and hold me still. I am sitting here breathing so much hate as I harbor too much love, and with all my talk, unless he leaves me, I will always be waiting. Waiting for him to stay or leave, just so I can fall to pieces in peace.

And no, by the way...he did not come back last night. And I have yet to get a call today.
Is it really any wonder why I sought warmth in Swiz even if it was momentary and wrong?
At least I know Swiz wants me. Dooley really doesn't know what he wants.

So after he left, I went over to my ex-girlfriend's house. She had called me on Tuesday out of the blue and asked me to come see her mom and new neice, because the family had been asking after me. They cooked me dinner and I sat around bullshitting with her Ma and her new girlfriend, as sister and baby had to stay home sick. It was so surreal. I mean, she sat across from me, looking so different to me...so unlike my Jen. She looked so...happy. Not that she wasn't happy before, but she is absolutely radiant now. And her girlfriend is a sweet person. It's funny, for so long I hated Jen and swore to never speak to her again, but every time I see her, I just want to melt in her arms. I just want to forgive her. And I get around her and I forget everything that she did to hurt me and leave me to fend for myself when I needed her most. I look into her eyes and I just see all the fun we had and how much I loved her...and how much she still loves me. I sat with her and her mom and her girl, so giddy to be with her mom again...to be in her home again...and I was loathe to leave when the clock struck 10. I just wanted that moment to suspend itself and extend on forever. But it couldn't. I left there and was too weary to even cry on the long, dark ride home. She is gone from me. No matter how much we loved, and love, each other, we will never really recover in my eyes. The pain will never really fade. We are really gone from each other, but for some reason we fight it. She won't let me go anymore than I can let her go. And so I love her, and her family that adores me and her pets that attack me whenever I come through the door...still. After so much time and so much hurt, there is still so much raw and undeniable love between us. And it hurts like hell, this love. Because this love will always be tainted by the unnecessary pain she caused us...but I can't let her go. No.

I will never really let her go, in my heart...even if my hands someday lose their grip...she will always be inside of me.

Yesterday so totally turned out like nothing I had planned, but it was everything I expected it to be.

I still went to sleep with a broken heart.

Yes...it really is strange, my life...sometimes...

Birds ate my face

2005-09-06T17:54:00.000-04:00

I get sad sometimes.

Well...not really sometimes...

I am a sad girl...a lot of the time.

I don't think I know how to function when outside of the realm of sadness, really. Whenever I am feeling good, those around me are in a funk and then I'm thrown into a funk. I am told that happens to me a lot because I am an empath. Well, if that's true, then it sucks being an empath. No wonder Phoebe was falling apart when she ascended to that level.

After awhile, though, I hit this place where I am so low that I can't help but be anything but giddy. It's a strange feeling...being so sad and despondent and helpless that everything just becomes...funny. Hilarious even. I notice that when I get there, I am super hyper and everything is fun and I am gregarious and talkative and laughing...oh how I laugh...at nothing and everything.

I kind of wish I was that far gone right now...because right now...nothing is funny.

Nothing is funny anymore at all.

The one you love and the one that loves you is never, ever the same person

2005-09-03T16:02:00.000-04:00

I find it amusing that I find humor in my situation.

Why humor?

Because I am beating myself up over something that I fought not to happen and didn't enjoy or intentionally do...yet, Dooley was doing his thing, talking to other women instead of me on the cell phone that I bought him...even had a woman that was able to sneak in there to see him and did lord knows what...but I'm the bad guy.

How the fuck am I the bad guy?

His emotions are always so hot and cold. I love you but I don't want to be bothered. You mean the world to me, but this is more important than you right now. You ask me to tell the truth and I lie. You ask me not to do something and I do it anyway. But that's me...you can't do that. It's okay for me to break your heart...you breaking mine would just be wrong. He's basically told me these things, believe it or not. And even more unbelievable is the fact that I took it all. I swallowed it and hoped that the last time would be the last time just to get smacked in the face with it the next time. But...let's just forget all that I dealt with and every disrespect he put me through, right? Let's just forget the loneliness and tears and heartache he has caused me, all right? Let's just focus on what I've done and make me the villain and make all of our problems my fault, okay? Why the fuck must I always turn everything around on me so it's my fault so I am constantly apologizing?

Truth is, if he hadn't been such an asshole for so long and lying to me and hurting me so many times, we never would have come to this. Time for that confession. I never should have met with Swiz, true...but if Dooley had acted right just once when I begged him to, I never would have had the inclination to meet up with him. So we are both to blame. It's not just me. At least I feel remorse for what I have done. Dooley...doesn't see what he did as wrong. I have been told to just get over it...that I said that I forgive him, so just stop asking about it and acting paranoid whenever he doesn't call. You know, the more I am thinking about this and writing it down, he really did shit on me...and I stood there rubbing it in my skin like it was the best thing ever. And why? Because I love him. I really do love him. And I think he really does love me. We are just really fucked up in our own ways.

So here it is, we have both sinned and both need redemption. I have forgiven him his and have tried to move past it. I wonder if he will forgive me mine. And if he doesn't, than I really don't want to be with such a fucking self-centered hypocrite anyway.

I never would have guessed this...but my mistake might be the best thing that could have happened to us.

Wow...funny how things turn out, huh?

Come out fair sun, and kill the jealous moon

2005-09-01T19:52:00.000-04:00

When I was a little one, my mom enrolled me in ballet class.

One day I was watching The Nutcracker on PBS and I fell under a spell...mouth agape and eyes wide with wonder, I watched Clara leap and twirl and tip toe all around the stage to that strange music and I fell in love. I called my mother into the room and told her I wanted to be Clara. I wanted to wear the pretty dress and walk on my toes. My mother laughed as I showed her my dance, trying to balance on my toes and bow and hop and twirl. She hugged me and kissed me, saying if I wanted to dance, then I would dance.

The first class was wonderful. I had pretty pink and white and blue and yellow tutus that my mother made for me. She would put me in my costumes and pull my hair up into frilly pony tails and make me pucker my lips for chap stick to prepare me for class. I don't think I have ever felt as beautiful as I did after that first class. I pranced, preened, and pouted, doing all the things ballerinas do when they glide across the stage. I was so happy. I slept in my costume that night.

The next morning, I came to the table for breakfast with my wrinkled tutu and my frizzy pony tails and my lips dry and caked with sleep, but I was smiling still, prancing and preening still while my mother gave me a patient smile before going back to more important things. My father reached over and poked my stomach playfully and pulled my tutu, asking my mother what it was. "It's a tutu! Thea is in dance class! She's going to be a ballerina!!" And I remember her proud smile as I jumped up and down laughing. I also remember that smile fading as my father joined in my laughter. He pulled my hair gently and held me still as he kissed my head. "A ballerina? She can't be a ballerina. She's too fat to be a ballerina! Don't they dance on their toes? She can't get on her toes...can you, pudgy girl? I don't want anyone laughing at her..." He poked my stomach and tickled my thighs and I fell into hysterics, even as my mother stood there crushed, the anger on her face evident as she glared at my father and told him that wasn't nice...that I wasn't that fat...that I could still try...maybe it would help me lose the weight. He just snorted, got up from the table grumbling about money and left for work. My mother looked at me like she hated me for laughing, so I stopped and reached out for her, but she turned back to the sink and blasted the water, commanding me to sit and eat my cereal so I could go to daycare.

The next week, my mother tried to dress me for class and I threw a fit. I ripped at the tutu and pulled the girlie little frilly bobs out of my hair and screamed like a banshee. When she tried to remind me how much I loved dancing and my costumes and asked me why I didn't want to go, I told her everyone would laugh at me and I was too fat and my costumes were stupid. She tried for a half hour to convince me otherwise, but I became so inconsolable, she had to wrap me up and drop me at Grandma's for the night. When she turned to leave me, while my Grandma cuddled and coddled me, rocking me and telling me I was her beautiful girl...her pretty, good girl...my mother looked at me like I was the most horrid thing she had ever seen. She didn't come back for me for two days. I don't think she ever got over that. I don't think she ever forgave my father for saying what he did, or me, for that matter, for believing him and shattering her hopes to have a dancing daughter full of beauty and grace. She was never really the same towards me.

I was never again beautiful in her eyes.

She stopped dressing me in the matching panty and dress sets. She stopped taking such painstaking care of my hair with the barrettes and balls, making sure every thing was just right. She stopped talking to me the same way. She was always cross and impatient with me, not holding me as much or coddling me or putting chop stick on my lips. She just...gave up on me. I wasn't her little girl anymore, I was his. I was nothing more than her disappointment. I am still nothing more than her negation. And after all that, he wound up eventually abandoning me anyway.

I think about this often...the precise moment I noticed I wasn't like other kids. I started seeing how I was treated different and talked to different, and when I heard the word "fat", I knew it wasn't a good thing. I noticed my skin and my hair and my eyes and my voice and how it wasn't like most other kids. I saw how most grown ups would ignore me or give me fake smiles as they pinched my cheeks and called me cute. And as I got older, I always heard the snickers, the jokes...I wasn't popular or invited to dances...for the most part, for most of my life...it's like I wasn't even there. Like they're someone else's memories, someone else's pain...not mine. My father never left me and my mother adores me and I was a pretty child with dreams of being a ballerina! I wasn't wasn't fat and lonely and ignored and abandoned!!

Oh but I was. I was that fat child. I am still fat. I am still sad. I am still lonely. I am still ignored. I'm still not pretty.

And I still have dreams of being a ballerina.

I wish I would have held onto those dreams tighter when I was that girl listening to my father tell my mother all that I wasn't. I wish I would have put on that costume and let her do my hair and put on that chapstick and let her take me to class that next week. I wish for so many things, but not as much as I wish that I were beautiful.

I wonder how different my life would have been if that moment in the kitchen never would have happened. I wonder how different I would be. I wonder if my mother would still love me and my father wouldn't have left me, if the cruelties would have affected me as crucially as they did.

I wonder if I would be happy.

What would Jesus NOT do?

2005-08-31T20:00:00.000-04:00

I drunk myself stupid last night, after taking a little poll from my friends as to what to do.

Consensus says I should keep my fucking mouth closed...and this came from a majority of men.

I would think that since I am the enemy and they have been stepped on by their women in the past, that they would encourage me to purge this falsity to my sweetie, but they all said that would be a mistake.
If you really love him, keep it to yourself.
You made a mistake, don't make him pay for it.
You both have done some fucked up things and now you're even.
If you do that, you are basically giving him an out if he ever cheats on you, and ammo to throw in your face if he doesn't.
It's not like it meant anything to you, so why sacrifice something that does?
The worse thing you could do is tell him
That is just what Swiz wants you to do.
And I'm sitting there like wow...taking it all in...shocked by the responses I got. It seems like good advice. Seems being the operative word. It's bad enough I cheated...but to then lie to him about it forever? Am I capable of doing that? Then again, am I capable of telling him and then waiting for the other shoe to drop if he stays?

I never thought I could ever be a cheater. Turns out, I am. It would seem that Swiz is constantly helping me discover things about myself. He's like my own little Discover Channel reporter, the bastard.

And speaking of the bastard, I must have texted him last night in my drunken state, because he called me today while he was on break asking me what it meant. It said I guess being friends is out, huh? Not knowing what I had said, though, when he confronted me about it, I just told him I was sorry...I was drunk. Then he gets all concerned and he's like drinking? on a weekday? why? you don't do that...what's wrong, baby? what's going on? I so wanted to scream at him...I so just wanted to break down crying and make him feel worse...but I was at my desk, so instead I mumbled I didn't know why and that I just wanted to drink. I thought that would be it. But no. He then apologized for not calling me last night and said that his tooth was killing him and that he had took some medice and then fell asleep. He got my text this morning and was going to call but he was running late to work and couldn't talk on his cell on the floor. So, he wanted to call me on his break and find out what was going on with me.

WHAT.THE.FUCK?

First of all, he has NEVER apologized or given me reasons as to why he wasn't able to call me. Secondly, he NEVER fucking calls me during the day...especially when he's at work...especially when he's on break...especially not for any real reason. Third, usually after we have sex, he disappears for a week or so. Two weeks if it was really intense. A month if I fucked up and told him I loved him. So after something as crucial as last time, I had no idea I'd be hearing from him so soon. Or that I'd hear that concern in his voice....or that guilt, either. And that's what it is...he KNOWS he was wrong. He knows it really fucked me up and that I'm not normally the one to do that. He knows he should have stopped. He knows he shouldn't have lied. He knows...that he's lost me in that way...and could possibly lose me in all others after what happened. He might not want to be with me (who knows...now that I'm taken, he might have finally came to his senses), but I know he really doesn't want to lose the friendship. He always used to say how I was the only one that he could talk to and that he never felt so comfortable with someone and that he loved just being with me. Yeah...we were...we could have been...something really special.

But he fucked it all up. He fucked me over time and again, running like a bitch whenever we would get "too real" and trying to just treat it casual...all while he's up my ass about where I've been, where I'm going, and who I was with. If he would have just taken one step towards me...just one...I would have waited forever. But he walked away. And then Dooley made his move. And I never looked back. So basically, it's because of him I'm even with Dooley...and if he knew that, I think this situation would me a million times worse. If that's even possible.

He said he'd call me tonight. I don't know why or what for. This is really getting tiresome.

Love me or leave me alone, mother fucker.

I am still torn as to what to do with Dooley. I don't know if I will tell him or not. Omission isn't lying, they say. If he doesn't ask you a direct question, then I don't need to give a direct answer. A relationship No Tell policy. Thing is, I really do want to tell him, just so I won't be a liar on top of being a cheat...but I don't want to hurt him like that. It's not about how he will see me or if he leaves me...I can take that...I wouldn't be able to live with hurting him like that.

Fuck.

Why does shit always have to get so complicated just when it looks like I'm home free?

Stoli baby, here I come!

What fools these mortals be

2005-08-30T20:04:00.000-04:00

I wish I could explain exactly what went wrong with my life last night, but I can't. I have no clue what happened, honest. It sounds like a cop out, and it even feels like a cop out, but I swear on everything I hold holy, I have turned it over in my head a thousand times today and I still don't know exactly when it all went to shit.

I went to go see him...my nemesis, my destruction...and we sat in the car and talked like civilized people. We laughed and smiled and exchanged sob stories, and the whole time, I was thinking This is cool. We're really doing it. We can do this...we will really still be friends. And as if on queue, he reached over and rubbed my ear and then pulled his hand away, apologizing. It was awkward, he said, it's hard to get used to, he said. I said nothing as I sat looking at his hands, at those damned fingers that had reached out and touched me, and then I felt how much I had really missed him. I looked at this face that I hadn't seen in over nine months and I saw the wary look in his eyes and heard the cautious tone in his voice...and I watched as he fiddled with this and that, and when I would look away from him, he would turn and stare at me...just to look away when I would turn slightly towards him. He joked about Dooley...asking if he had followed me or anything, then asked about my brother...if he was home or whatever...and he reached over and put his hand on my leg. I looked down at it and he pulled it away, but the heat was still there. He quickly told me he was proud of me for getting my poem published, and he reached over to hug me. His skinny arms laced around me and held me tight, and my stomach flipped. It had been so long since someone had held me like that. So when he nuzzled my ear and reached to rub my breast while murmuring my name, I didn't pull away right away. I sank into his breath and embrace briefly, before shaking my head and pulling away from him. He sighed and then laughed and said, I know...I'm sorry...I know...

I should have left then, but we talked a bit more. He seemed so frail leaning in my seat, looking up at me with those dark egyptian eyes, that I found it hard to leave...hard to breathe...and I turned away when the tears burned my eyes. Tears because I did miss him. Tears because I had loved him so well for so long that I can't remember the moments that we were just friends. Tears because I knew I shouldn't be there. Tears because I knew we couldn't be friends. Tears because I am so lonely. Tears because...we weren't the same. After a moment, he leaned up to leave, and without meaning to, I reached to touch his hand to stop him, and then he turned and pulled me to him again...his head nestled against my chest, one hand in my hair and the other touching my earlobe...and I...raised my arm to cradle his head with my lips near his ear and touching his neck. So close...so close...and this was goodbye...so I kissed him and told him to take care. He pulled back after I don't know how long, and though he was blurred in my vision, I still saw that brilliant smile and felt his warm hand on my cheek before he got out.

And I drove home, away from him, away from old dreams of him, and I felt relief.

I got home and an hour passed, and I couldn't stop thinking about him. I texted him that we would always be cool and for him not to forget about me and to call me. No sooner I close my phone, it rings. It's him. I inhale and answer. He had to drop a friend off and he was near my house...could he come by? I tell him as long as it's just us hanging out and nothing more, we can do that...but if he doesn't think he could do that, then he should go home. At first he said he couldn't, and I was hurt. I said I thought we could be friends...I thought it was all cool. He says some things I don't remember and then that he was sorry and he could do it after all and he'd be there. I panic. I try to backpeddle and he hangs up. I straighten my room up and before I knew it, he was behind me, hugging me. We sit down and we agree we shouldn't be in the bedroom, and I prattle around, putting things in their place before walking out, but he's there...laying there with his eyes closed and he did look so exhausted. So I sat next to him and he curled around my back, his hand in my hair, his voice muffled against my back and I pull from him. He says he's just tired, and could he just close his eyes with me for awhile? I sigh and say yes, rubbing his head as he complained about his tooth hurting. He grunted and breathed deep, his hands on my leg and arm and alarms went up in my brain. I knew this was wrong, but I was so conflicted about turning him away! I would move his hands when they wandered where they shouldn't, saying his name and chiding him like a greedy child. Finally I stood and told him I had to shower, asking was he leaving and he asked if he could stay with me...just to sleep...and after a moment I lamented...rushing from him to take my shower and clear my head. I came back 45 minutes later and he was sleep. I dried off and put on my lotion in total silence, so afraid to wake him...wake myself. I laid next to him, above the covers, and draped my arm around him and fell asleep.

We woke up at 5. He was still holding me in some position we had fallen in, and surprised, we moved away from each other. I asked if he was leaving and he said yes. Then he laid on his back and gently held me to chest, and I laid there and cried. Muffled, angry, silent tears streamed into his armpit, and oblivious, he wrapped his arms around me and rubbed my back and shoulders. Soon he was holding me tighter and I had my arms around him, bringing him as close as possible. Next thing I know, I feel his lips on my neck, his hand pulling mine to his groin...and soon we were tussling...me trying to pull away and begging him to stop and him pulling me back and biting me harder. I remember his tongue in my ear and his voice saying I want to be inside you. I remember moaning and struggling more, but it only excited the situation, as this was how we always used to be in the beginning...denying the undeniable, him forcing me down and kissing me into submission. We don't kiss anymore. We're like old hookers...no kissing on the mouth. No real connection. No real submission. Just bodies coming together in animalistic bliss...always ending with my hot tears and broken heart.

I can't even blame him. It was what we did. How we moved. So why should he listen to me plead for him to stop? Why should he heed my shaky voice and futile struggles. It's a turn on to him. And I know that...because it turns me on. I don't know how he got between my legs. I put my hands against his chest, choking out my denial...and he stopped. He looked into my eyes and asked me if I really wanted him to stop...and I hesitated...breathless and damn near senseless...fuck me, I didn't answer fast enough...and then he was inside of me...and we both moaned and he just laid there, kissing my breasts...not moving in or out. I gripped him hard and shook my head as he began to move. He bit my fingers and I wrapped my arms around him and wrapped my legs around him and for a few moves, we were one. But then he said something then made me stop...yanked me back into reality...You know you want to be with me and not your man...

My eyes snapped open as I cried out. My hands beat against his chest and he stared down at me, realizing his blunder. He just laid there inside of me, looking inside of me, and everything changed. I didn't want him. I really don't want him anymore. It was all just sad and wrong. I was sad and wrong. And I wanted Dooley. And I knew I had probably just lost him for nothing.

It was all a game and I fell for it. It was all just a game and I was a fool for playing. Swiz doesn't want me...he just wants the game. And the worse thing is I don't even want him anymore, but I'm just so used to playing with him that I fucked myself up.

And now I've probably lost the man I love forever.

Game over.

I lose.

Love is a shadow, how you lie and cry after it

2005-08-29T18:38:00.000-04:00

My ex lover called me this afternoon out of the blue.

I was at my desk like it was any other day, thinking that it was like every other day, and my cell buzzed and his name popped up and I almost fell out of my chair. I never call him by his name, but as I am writing this now, my body just relaxes as it crosses my lips.

Michael.

When I answered, he called me babydoll and my heart melted insantly. It was cute the way he fumbled from it's me to saying his first name, then his first and last name, then my name for him...like I wouldn't know who he was. I'd know that voice anywhere...and besides...I have caller ID on my cell. Duh!

He talked about nothing in particular...that he had to have surgery on his wisdom tooth and that he was looking for a new place to live and that he was running late with his bills this month because he was out for a week without pay because of his tooth. I offered him money I didn't have and felt disappointed when he refused it. He asked for me to meet him somewhere tonight and I felt a chill run through me.

Why now? I know we agreed we would be friends and all, but I never expected you to hold up your end of the bargain. Is it because I have a boyfriend now? Is it because you blew it? Is it because you realize you love me and want to be with me? Or is it just because you can't stand to think of me with someone else and not being there waiting for you whenever you call?

I agreed to meet him. I told him I'd call when I was leaving work so I could meet up with him on my way home. I am so nervous. Nervous he'll make a move...and at the same time apprehensive that he won't. I don't want to do anything that could jeopardize me and Dooley. He already told me he didn't want me to see dude because he knows that he will still try to fuck me...that the whole "friends" line is bullshit and he still has an agenda with me. Dooley really doesn't think that Swiz will/has let me go. I tried to explain to him that we weren't like that...that Swiz never wanted to be with me and after awhile I let go of my delusions of wanting to be with him and we seriously were just friends that occasionally had sex. Nothing more...Nothing less.

But we were always friends.

So even though I had decided not to see him and to just move on from Swiz and the friendship we had, something is happening to deter me from my path away from him.

I just hope it doesn't lead me to the path that will take me away from Dooley instead.

It can't rain all the time

2005-08-27T15:14:00.000-04:00

All summer long I have had only one secret dream....
to go to the beach.

I was supposed to go to the shore today with my friend. We had it all planned to go to the shore and sit on the boardwalk and watch the dark waves roll in the night. The beach is beautiful...but it's downright magical at night.

So we made our plans to go today...leaving work and driving straight down while we had the nerve, gas, gumption, and drive...and what happens?

It's fucking raining.

Dark cloud, thunder rolling in kind of rain.

Mother nature can really be a cunt sometimes.

you are not a unique and special snowflake

2005-08-26T20:20:00.000-04:00

i want to be original. with everything i say, think, and do, i try to have some modicum of originality. i have always considered myself an original...offbeat...eccentric...one of a kind.

what a crock of shit.

the fact that someone wants to be original is unoriginal. technically, you are trying to be like that first person that actually accomlplished something else. even if you're the first person to do something...fly, pasturize, smelt gold, play cloud pictionary...it doesn't matter. whoever that first person was that did something has fucked it up for every single person that yearns to be original. funny thing is, if you reall think about it (or if you're religious) the first person to do something original was lucifer. and he was vilified for it. now everybody wants to be original.

but enough of that. i am not a satanist nor a christian, for that matter. i am just a thinker. and i was sitting here thinking about how glad i am that i am original and not a sheep...not into fashion or trends or groups...not fitting any real stereotype. and while i am those things, i am not original. i am just like all those other jackasses that think being their own person and a bit looney makes them original. even worse, i'm nothing close to original. i am a fat, brooding, self conscious, abandoned, first born, black, intellectual, paranoid woman that thinks of herself as a misunderstood, starving poet artist. just like every other female poet out there.

i say this now because i need to say this now or i might go insane over it later. i have been thumbing through my poet's market guide, searching for publishers and contests, and the main trend that i am noticing is that...no one really wants to print an original. you have to follow rules and trends and work within the confines of someone else's restrictions. editors like certain styles, genres, and tones of voice. even when they put at the bottom they want originality, in reality they don't. they just want a fresher version of a style they are already comfortable with. they don't want an original...they want something different...which is a big difference.

luckily, i am different. now all i have to do is hone my skills and make myself into some new version of old, so i can write and send off my stunning works of sacrifice to the poetry powers that be and pray that they will deem me worthy of print just so i can someday say, "look what i did and you didn't". just so i can leave a permanent footprint behind saying that i was here. i will be sanctified for the religious publishers, funny for the comical publishers, sardonic for the political publishers, ethnic for the minority publishers, empowering for the feminist publishers, self depreciating for the angst publishers, erotic for the sexist publishers, lovesick for the romantic publishers, scorned for stereotypical publishers, existential for the philosophical publishers, and nonsensical for those that like to publish what others won't dare to publish. i will do this. i will be all those kinds of writers for those particular publishers because if i don't conform, i'll be out of the game faster than a fat kid with a limp playing dodgeball. i will be their little monkey poet, forever reaching into that jar in vain to grab the shiny prize at the bottom. i can do these things because i am unoriginal and just different enough to be able to throw myself into these alter personalities without totally losing my mind. because that's what i have to do be noticed and revered by the masses as a poet. because in order to do anything great, you have to make a great sacrifice.

because i don't want to be like everyone else.

how unoriginal.

what's so different about feeling like that?

my life closed twice before it's close

2005-08-25T19:25:00.000-04:00

my whole life is waiting for something.

i'm waiting for my destiny to show itself to me. i'm waiting to see if i will ever be discovered and published. i'm waiting to see if i'm as smart as other people think. i'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. i'm waiting for my sexual revolution. i'm waiting for the sadness to leave me. i'm waiting to find a true friend. i'm waiting to find out if i'm a true friend. i'm waiting for my true love to come home. i'm waiting to find out if his love is true. i'm waiting to find out if i'm tough enough. i'm waiting to see if i'm good enough. i'm waiting to see if this job will close. i'm waiting to see if i really want to be happy. i'm waiting to see if i really could ever be happy. i'm waiting for my anger at my parents to dissipate. i'm waiting to hit the lottery. i'm waiting for someone to send me flowers and serenade me. i'm waiting for poetry, love letters, and requitedness. i'm waiting for forever. i am waiting for my waiting to finally end.

i hope i'm not waiting in vain.

I being poor, have only my dreams;

2005-08-24T21:02:00.000-04:00

I have spread my dreams under your feet.

Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.