Another One Bites the Dust

J.

1. You don't want children
2. You outright lied and manipulated me by talking about wanting children in order to win me
3. We fight on a weekly basis about nothing
4. This is not fun for most people beyond high school
5. You're a secret racist
6. You're self destructive
7. You're careless with your words and sometimes I wonder whether you'll get violent
8. You're a bundle of raw nerves, walking around. It's painful just to be near it sometimes
9. You're too old for me
10. I couldn't POSSIBLY introduce you to my father

So, it looks like I have ten extremely solid reasons to stop this once and for all. Pity you were so nuts.

All My Exes Live in Texas

The sun seems to be poking it's head out from under the covers after a two-year nap, and while it has scientists all atwitter and afeared about its implications, I must admit it makes me smile.

There's certainly a correlation between myself and the sun, here. And I thing it's about damn time for some flare-ups. It's what the sun does, for god's sake. Things will get interesting again, and I will radiate like I'm meant to.

Perhaps that's why in the last two months, I've had not one -- not two -- but three significant exes find me and tell me that they still love me and think I'm great. Here's one from Mark, who now resides in Spain:

Ahh, that's right! Post a really sexy photo as your profile pic.

Damn you! The only "ex" I still love.

M xx

Just before him was Crosby. Before that, Adam. It warms my heart and makes me feel good that I had an impact that's stretched across the oceans and years for these men. And it also warmed my heart to look back over my surprisingly long (for my young, young, still young age!) romantic history and realize that of all of them, there's only one I'm not fond enough of to be unhappy at hearing that from. And that one? He can rot in hell. But who cares, with all this love.

All I can say about my recent turmoil is this: nothing makes me forget like a warm body. Feeling just fine.

"You're the Don Corleone of girlfriends"

I took another look at the pictures of us from your visit here. There are only four in existence, as far as I know. Only two of us together. I keep looking into your eyes. Mine are flashing, filled with light, they look like mercury (that's not poetry, look for yourself and you'll see it's true), liquid silver with what you light up inside me. Yours, I just don't know. Do I see doubt? How do I know? I can drive myself crazy, convince myself of anything.

I both want to and never want to see you again.

If I do see you again, it'll be when we're actually trying. Because I can't endure this ever again.

Après Moi, le Déluge

Ok, so I think this blog is starting to turn into a private place to put my psychosis.

So fucking be it.

I said it before and I'll elucidate. I want to talk about how things get worse.

The idea of giving people time to think things through, to cool off, blow off steam and organize their thoughts, that makes me crazy. It doesn't work like that for me. If we fight, and you don't fix it fast, if you cut me off and walk away, I don't cool down. I don't get perspective. Or rather I do, but not the one you'd like. It focuses me, makes me angry beyond repair. My shrink says I "can't tolerate ambiguity." And while I'm working on and have made GREAT strides in my black-and-white outlook, I ask you, what the hell is so wrong with not being able to tolerate ambiguity? I can't see any way around it.

When I fight with someone I love, I can't rest until go to them, talk to them and figure out where we go from there. It's a measure of my love because the times I haven't bothered means we were irrevocably damaged and I don't ever want to see them again. I know not everyone is like this, but in practice it doesn't make me feel any better to know that. Perhaps because I don't know that at all. There it is again. I cannot tolerate ambiguity.

How dare you not include me? After you said you wanted to, how dare you? What are you waiting for? We're dying, don't you know that? Our time will ALWAYS be less than we need. Always. That's the nature of being human. So when we stumble on things we know as truth, things we know we want, why don't you throw yourself at them wholeheartedly? I've always lived my life this way and it has always been a good idea.

I feel like I'm mourning a long life without my husband, much like my grandmother after Grandpa Art died. She went into mourning and never came out of it because their love was so epic. At least they got their real chance for some years, and she had proof of this. She had an entire tribe as a result. Me? Maybe I already got my chance and now it's over. And like her, I'll never want or get one again. I'm too young and too old for this, all at once and I'm heartbroken.

Maybe, years from now at middle age or maybe not until old age, you'll see it all finally. Maybe then you'll be ready and you'll realize that you're heartbroken too, for what could have been if you just sorted it the fuck out. If you just saw the forest for the trees. And you'll see that you broke my heart and your own, you fucking idiot.

I'm so angry, so sad, sooo upset and bereft. And I'm an idiot for it too. Maybe you'll never truly be heartbroken and never see because it's all one-sided and I'm wrong, wrong, wrong.

Time to wipe my tears, go to bed and go to work in the morning. For what, I don't fucking know.

How to Spend: Time, Money, Effort, Intention

I have a few ventures in the works. I can't do them all, but I can choose. Just about all of them will take a lot of money and a commitment. I'm ready, but for which one? I'm still sorting that out. In an effort to get some rest, I'll lay them out here:

1. Investing in Mike's pub
2. Moving to ABQ (not bloody likely and not entirely up to me)
3. Moving to Chicago (not where I want to wind up for longer than a year, but potentially VERY lucrative, and entirely up to me)
4. Buying a VERY expensive camera and making movies with Butch

One.

He has a very good business plan. And I could stand to get out of the copywriting business altogether, if it takes off. And I trust him implicitly. Especially since we both insist on writing absolutely everything down in legal contracts. But my initial investment would be $20,000. I'd have to rearrange my finances, maybe take a small loan and work behind the bar some weeknights and weekends, to pull my weight in my own investment.

Two.

Probably wouldn't take more than $10,000 to do exceptionally comfortably and conservatively, accounting for not having a job for six months, plus moving expenses. The money isn't a problem but the.. intention is. On both sides. And it seems like a worse idea by the day. The longer someone takes, the harder it'll be to convince me. And I must accept the reality that no one seems interested in convincing me.

Three.

Very risky and still, somehow probably the safest bet. I'd clear $135,000/year up there, would only have to stay a little while, could enjoy the amenities of a much larger city and already know people there. But I don't want to live in Chicago. Hum, a possibility but not tugging at my heart or poking my sense of adventure in the eye, particularly.

Four.

I can do this in a month. It'll eat up every hour of my weekends and nights for at least a year, likely more, but it may be just what we need. Although very expensive (for the kind of camera we require), it's the cheapest option.

Whatever I do, I need a shakeup. And I'm not waiting for someone else to help me do it. Ok, actually, this list is complete bullshit. These are real, but the big things I'm too afraid to write down. I'm going to do something, but some of them I can't come back from and make another choice once I've done them. That gives me pause. But I won't pause forever. It's just not in my nature. And if the last five years have taught me anything, it's that I can't ever again sacrifice the things in me that feel natural.

In a couple weeks, I find out if the cancer stayed away. Great.

Speaking of being sick; I felt shitty all weekend, but went everywhere anyway, and got myself a robust stomach virus. This morning was spent heaving into the toilet until my back muscles ached and throbbed and failed to hold me aloft. Then I cranked a scalding shower, lay down on the bathtub floor and had a feverish spell, slipping in and out of sleep and fever dreams and moaning until the water was icy or I was jolted awake by water filling my nostrils.

It's very rare that I'm this ill. Maybe only three or so times in my entire life. I've never had anyone there to help me, though I always start moaning the same words each time it's happened: "help me... help meee." I wonder what it's like to actually have someone help me? I've helped nurse boyfriends back to health lots of times, but due to infrequency and winding up with assholes, I can't say I've had anyone hold my hair or dote or smooth my forehead or rub me comfortingly or wipe my brow with cold washcloths or feed me soup or make me drink water or any of the same for me.

I drug myself out of bed and clocked in, working remotely for a few hours to make deadlines. I over-communicated with my boss and put myself in the car, then drove the 30 minutes to see my doctor. As I sped along, still feeling half-feverish, my spine felt like it was made of corduroy. A stiff fabric that folded in on itself as soon as you propped it up and expected it to hold the weight of itself. I was like a floppy sock monkey, being pulled along by the car. I may have been operating it, but only by the tiniest part of my toe as I pushed the gas. The rest of my body was very aware of being pulled through the distance, as if my floppy body was being led by string connected to my sock monkey belly button.

I'm so angry at you, and you don't know it. And you aren't supposed to because you're supposed to be selfish right now. But at the same time, I wonder what did you think was going to happen? What did you honestly think and intend to happen? And how could you leave it that way? When I fight and am hurt by someone, time doesn't make it better. It makes it worse. It makes it fester and grow because each passing hour that it doesn't grate on you shows a measure of how much you don't care. Fuck you.

Time to slip back into unconsciousness.

First Edition

I have things to tell a few people who are very close to me, but I can't seem to muster a reason to tell them or they don't seem important, in the scheme of things. So, in order to put them somewhere until they're worth finding and presenting again and so that they stop tormenting me, here they'll reside.

What a strange evening. A strange day. Eventful, yet not. Shopping with Davey turned into shopping with Davey and her sullen boyfriend. His negativity astounds me and I dislike his company equally as much as I like it. He's likable but baffling to be around.

After a wondrous three-hour meal of very good food and incredible wine, slipped into a food coma and lazed back at the house. Staying in to escape the blustery cold. Butch and I agonized over bad movies and good movies and the many different reasons we each have for being desperately interested in seeing certain movies we're almost sure will be very good, but that we do not want to see right now (but when?). Got to talking about making movies again and finally, decided to look at some cameras. Some real ones that will set me back a lot financially, but will take up at least a year or two of our nights and weekends, happily. We both want projects like that, so we're going to do it. Hurrah.

Watched an excellent movie about love or the lack of it. Then started chatting with an old co-worker/acquaintance I've always had a fondness (in a buddy kind of way) for.

Has someone you really liked ever really disappointed you? I know the guy has a troubled family life, but I didn't know our chat, then help with job/moving offer, then phone conversation would turn into what it did. I think he wanted to have phone sex with me. And while I'm generally clueless in life, I've always been REALLY clear and good at picking up things like that with people. This, I walked into and was mired in well, well before I knew what was going on.

Gave him a million offerings of "not sure what you mean," and "what are you getting at," and "how old are your kids?" to save face. But he persisted and kept saying, "....well played. Well played. But c',mon. What are you in to?"

Awkward and depressing. I thought we were just friends.