I'm in smit.
Smote. Smitted. Smited.
When was the last time I spent almost 20 hours with someone?
Primary food like keerazy. It's amazing how little sleep/food/water/anything you need when you're smitten.
Please please please please please karmic nutjobs don't screw me. Every time I get smit I get shit. Wish me fuckity luckity.
You have GOT to be kidding me.
One I love, but not in THAT way.
One I don't know and don't trust. Not really.
One I enjoy tremendously.
One I call stupid...to his face, no less. Or his ear. What disconnect could possibly take a year?
Today was awful. Tonight was fun. Later tonight was interesting and a bit annoying.
This isn't usual or normal or the typical pattern in any way. Unless you're considering draught and deluge normal. Which, I suppose, has been the way it's gone.
Blame. Responsibility. My fault. Yours.
Who is on boundary duty?
I preach the non-existence of willpower. Staying good/being bad. There are only choices.
So who has the fucking responsibility here? I talk and talk and talk and talk and I'm a sucker.
I'm tired of being the strong one. The one who makes the rules and sticks to them. If there's something we should do, please don't make me be the one to do it. Ultimately I can and I will but I don't want to. Don't make me be the nose and the knife too.
Fuck it I don't know what I want in any every each arena.
Is separation necessary? Is dropping out giving up?
Most of the time I don't even think about what's going on. I don't have the room. Business and home and life keep me quite occupied. But I'm getting tired of carrying everyone else's shit, even though I signed up for it. Sometimes it's exhausting having everyone vomit their anxieties in my lap. (Karma's a bitch, ain't it?)
I'm working very hard at keeping the energy fields of my living room free and clear and mine! I just have to keep saying "It's theirs, not mine. It's theirs, not mine."
And then there are my friends. I love you I love you. But you all have such HUGE SHIT going on for you right now. I can't hold all of it in my head, although I'm holding all of it in my heart. Life changes and love changes and identity changes and drug changes and death changes and disease changes and changes I can't even remotely define. My stuff isn't small either, although I minimize it I fear. It's amazing how comments in childhood can sow issues I still reap. I thank you in advance for never again calling me a "diva" or "drama queen". And I make no apologies in advance for punching you if you ever do.
I help others find their comfort. I encourage them to take time for themselves and relieve themselves of the responsibility of caring for their entire social world. But I feel guilty taking that same time. Especially when everyone I care about is in turmoil. Guilt doesn't exist. It's an imaginary emotion.
I've talked before about confusing love and pity for others...now I'm confusing love and pity for myself. Where is the man who will bring me a crate of oranges?
