I feel so fucking lonely. I'm detrimentally caught up in my own brain right now. I get into a me-vs-the world mentality, which is very jarring to my usual lalala-life is great/humans are lovely mindset- a mindset I truly do believe, even now, but can't really relate to. I would just like some fucking help, someone to be there, just THERE. I have always valued my independence so ferociously but lately things have seemed really fucking overwhelming and I'm having to deal with all of it alone. it sucks. I would like some company, some advice, some fucking reassurance.
instead I am sweating in my parked car and writing on my phone and humming along to "that's life", which is pretty nicely apt and a song that always makes me feel better. life goes on. there is nothing that cannot be dealt with. amorphous bullshit is just scarier, that's all.
*
I don't think I could take anything for granted even if I wanted to.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
never a frown
i was raised in a very demonstrative household, probably to a fault. there was hysterical laughter and holes punched in walls and tires squealing out of the driveway and parents always holding hands and leaving love notes everywhere. I've seen my parents cry and kiss and get drunk and get high and fight and make up. that is my normal. we didn't always know why, but we certainly all knew HOW everyone felt. I could hear my mother from another part of the house, by herself, and she would spontaneously singsong "I love you!" she still calls my dad "ditto." he calls her "scooter." I don't think I've ever asked them why. I will.
*
until very recently, I assumed everyone was raised that way. stoicism and reticence can't possibly be defaults... but maybe they can. apparently they are.
*
I got home from work and the house smelled like piss again. I sat down and Tiresias crawled into my lap. stretched out contentedly. started to purr. ever since he was a kitten I've picked him up and pressed my cheek to the side of his head, to listen to him purr. he goes totally limp. I have no fucking idea what I should do. I asked both doctors today about amitryptalline and other drug therapy; neither of them reccommend it. I priced more laminate flooring- the cheapest I found was $.69/foot and looked it. I looked on craigslist for noncarpeted lairs. "why don't you just make him an outdoor cat?" someone suggested. "because he has NO EYES" I said. "oh." she paused. "that's a problem."
I feel like a festering spinster hag to be obsessing over this- as if I should clear the cobwebs from my vagina with a fucking machete- but fuck. FUCK. this is the cat who once fit in my hand. he's always been golden. brilliant. enough of an asshole to remain entertaining. I don't want to debate his life because of an issue that obviously bothers ME a lot more than it bothers HIM. fucking boy cats. never again.
*
I realize I am writing about my cat, and that's tedious. enough. some people have kids and shit. I dunno. maybe it's vaguely similar.
*
apparently they are serving deep-fried kool-aid at the San Diego fair. there are recipes on teh internets. didn't appear to suck.
you know what would be fucking delicious? deep-fried caramello bars. do they even make those any more? in lieu of that, deep-fried rollos would be good- finger food for a succubus.
*
I had another manic fit last week, which is always an effective self-starter, so I'm going to Montreal next month. I always need something on the fucking horizon. besides, I've noticed that the everyday world gets a lot more fucking compelling when you have the option to be elsewhere.
no edit
*
until very recently, I assumed everyone was raised that way. stoicism and reticence can't possibly be defaults... but maybe they can. apparently they are.
*
I got home from work and the house smelled like piss again. I sat down and Tiresias crawled into my lap. stretched out contentedly. started to purr. ever since he was a kitten I've picked him up and pressed my cheek to the side of his head, to listen to him purr. he goes totally limp. I have no fucking idea what I should do. I asked both doctors today about amitryptalline and other drug therapy; neither of them reccommend it. I priced more laminate flooring- the cheapest I found was $.69/foot and looked it. I looked on craigslist for noncarpeted lairs. "why don't you just make him an outdoor cat?" someone suggested. "because he has NO EYES" I said. "oh." she paused. "that's a problem."
I feel like a festering spinster hag to be obsessing over this- as if I should clear the cobwebs from my vagina with a fucking machete- but fuck. FUCK. this is the cat who once fit in my hand. he's always been golden. brilliant. enough of an asshole to remain entertaining. I don't want to debate his life because of an issue that obviously bothers ME a lot more than it bothers HIM. fucking boy cats. never again.
*
I realize I am writing about my cat, and that's tedious. enough. some people have kids and shit. I dunno. maybe it's vaguely similar.
*
apparently they are serving deep-fried kool-aid at the San Diego fair. there are recipes on teh internets. didn't appear to suck.
you know what would be fucking delicious? deep-fried caramello bars. do they even make those any more? in lieu of that, deep-fried rollos would be good- finger food for a succubus.
*
I had another manic fit last week, which is always an effective self-starter, so I'm going to Montreal next month. I always need something on the fucking horizon. besides, I've noticed that the everyday world gets a lot more fucking compelling when you have the option to be elsewhere.
no edit
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
elephant
eleven years ago I fell very hard and very quickly for a guy. we slept together the night we met but didn't have sex until the second. I remember telling him after a week, "I'm going to know you for a long time." and we did, but we didn't. I moved to Washington and got married and divorced to someone else and went back to school and lived my silly life. and things went horribly awry with him. I will never know what the reasons are. I will never again be able to know the person who bought me bags of grapes and kept me company in the grim sober hours before my graveyard shift and with whom I ate fucking onion petals from the arby's drive-in and sang along with me to "starless" and bemusedly watched me butcher "fever" at karaoke and turned me on to some of the best music I know and with whom I linked jewelry and who loved my cats almost as much as I did and I can go on for an obnoxiously long time, because there were a fucking hell of a lot of things to love about him. but that person is gone now. and it fucking destroys me like a death. and he is too caught up in his own self-destruction to realize his impact on other people who care about him, and it's the saddest, most infuriating thing. there is nothing I can do but close my eyes and hope to fuck I don't get a call from someone telling me he's dead. I miss what was.
*
sometimes things just fucking suck. I just can't deal with it anymore. I feel like a weak asshole piece of shit to eviscerate him from my life, but I don't want to know what he's become. i don't want that shit in my life.
*
I have (tried to, finally) let go of a lot of "past" lately, things and people that I clung to for way too long- things and people that I used to validate and define me, like a photograph I take to prove I've been somewhere.
*
last night, different unrelated topic entirely: I was asked what i was looking for. my skin was still warm from dancing. the candlelight was supremely flattering. and I thought: I want to always have the freedom to think about possibilities. I want to a live a life of adolescent intrigue, where every situation is potentially loaded and dramatic. I want to appreciate the way the air feels on bare skin, how people's eyes are sometimes golden, how we're all just trying to be fucking understood.
I didn't articulate that properly, I'm afraid.
it was nice to be asked. "passion" and "giving a shit" is what I think I said. those virtues can and should be applied to everything. right? right.
*
I have no idea how incoherent this is. I'm writing on my phone whilst sitting in front of an open window, heat on and cold air blowing in, Xmas lights and AC Newman "submarines of Stockholm", 115 pst, no edit. this is my current slice of the world.
*
sometimes things just fucking suck. I just can't deal with it anymore. I feel like a weak asshole piece of shit to eviscerate him from my life, but I don't want to know what he's become. i don't want that shit in my life.
*
I have (tried to, finally) let go of a lot of "past" lately, things and people that I clung to for way too long- things and people that I used to validate and define me, like a photograph I take to prove I've been somewhere.
*
last night, different unrelated topic entirely: I was asked what i was looking for. my skin was still warm from dancing. the candlelight was supremely flattering. and I thought: I want to always have the freedom to think about possibilities. I want to a live a life of adolescent intrigue, where every situation is potentially loaded and dramatic. I want to appreciate the way the air feels on bare skin, how people's eyes are sometimes golden, how we're all just trying to be fucking understood.
I didn't articulate that properly, I'm afraid.
it was nice to be asked. "passion" and "giving a shit" is what I think I said. those virtues can and should be applied to everything. right? right.
*
I have no idea how incoherent this is. I'm writing on my phone whilst sitting in front of an open window, heat on and cold air blowing in, Xmas lights and AC Newman "submarines of Stockholm", 115 pst, no edit. this is my current slice of the world.
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